THE  LIBRARY 

OF 
THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 


"  Your  address !  "  bawled  the  Uuke. 


THE  PLACE 
OF  HONEYMOONS 


HAROLD  MACGRATH 


Anther  of 

THE  MAN  ON  THE  BOX,  THE  GOOSE  GIRL. 
THE  CARPET  FROM  BAGDAD.  ETC. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

ARTHUR  I.  KELLER 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1912 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


PRIM    OF 

BKAUNWORTH    *    BO. 

BOOKBINDERS    AND    PRINTCR* 

BROOKLYN.    N.    V. 


To  B.  O'G. 

Horace  calls  no  more  to  me, 

Homer  in  the  dust-heap  lies: 
I  have  found  my  Odyssey 
In  the  lightness  of  her  glee, 
In  the  laughter  of  her  eyes. 

Ovid's  page  is  thumbed  no  more, 

E'en  Catullus  has  no  choice! 
There  is  endless,  precious  lore, 
Such  as  I  ne'er  knew  before, 
In  the  music  of  her  voice. 

Breath  of  hyssop  steeped  in  wine, 

Breath  of  violets  and  furze, 
Wild-wood  roses,  Grecian  myrrhs, 
All  these  perfumes  do  combine 
In  that  maiden  breath  of  hers. 

Nay,  I  look  not  at  the  skies, 

Nor  the  sun  that  hillward  slips, 
For  the  day  lives  or  it  dies 
In  the  laughter  of  her  eyes, 
In  the  music  of  her  lips! 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    AT  THE  STAGE  DOOR 1 

II  THERE  Is  A  WOMAN?        ....      19 

III  THE  BEAUTIFUL  TIGRESS   ....      36 

IV  THE  JOKE  OF  MONSIEUR    ....      S3 
V  CAPTIVE  OR  RUNAWAY        ....      74 

VI  THE  BIRD  BEHIND  BARS   .        .        .        .103 

VII    BATTLING  JIMMIE 126 

VIII  MOONLIGHT  AND  A  PRINCE         .        .        .     146 

IX  COLONEL  CAXLEY- WEBSTER         .        .        .     166 

X  MARGUERITES  AND  EMERALDS     .        .        .     185 

XI  AT  THE  CRATER'S  EDGE      ....    202 

XII  DICK  COURTLANDT'S  BOY   ....    214 

XIII  EVERYTHING  BUT  THE  TRUTH   .        .        .    232 

XIV  A  COMEDY  WITH  Music    .        .        .        .249 
XV  HERR  ROSEN'S  REGRETS      ....    265 

XVI  THE  APPLE  OF  DISCORD      .        .        .        .282 

XVII    THE  BALL  AT  THK  VILLA 303 

XVIII    PISTOLS  FOR  Two 326 

XIX  COURTLANDT  TELLS  A  STORY        .           .           .      345 

XX    JOURNEY'S  END 363 


CHAPTER  I 

AT   THE   STAGE  DOOR 

COURTLANDT  sat  perfectly  straight;  his 
ample  shoulders  did  not  touch  the  back 
of  his  chair;  and  his  arms  were  folded  tightly 
across  his  chest.  The  characteristic  of  his  atti 
tude  was  tenseness.  The  nostrils  were  well  de 
nned,  as  in  one  who  sets  the  upper  jaw  hard 
upon  the  nether.  His  brown  eyes  —  their 
gaze  directed  toward  the  stage  whence  came 
the  voice  of  the  prima  donna  —  epitomized  the 
tension,  expressed  the  whole  as  in  a  word. 

Just  now  the  voice  was  pathetically  subdued, 

yet    reached    every    part   of   the   auditorium, 

kindling  the  ear  with  its  singularly  mellowing 

sweetness.     To  Courtlandt  it  resembled,  as  no 

i: 


2     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

other  sound,  the  note  of  a  muffled  Burmese 
gong,  struck  in  the  dim  incensed  cavern  of  a 
temple.  A  Burmese  gong:  briefly  and  magi 
cally  the  stage,  the  audience,  the  amazing 
gleam  and  scintillation  of  the  Opera,  faded. 
He  heard  only  the  voice  and  saw  only  the 
purple  shadows  in  the  temple  at  Rangoon,  the 
oriental  sunset  splashing  the  golden  dome, 
the  wavering  lights  of  the  dripping  candles, 
the  dead  flowers,  the  kneeling  devotees,  the 
yellow-robed  priests,  the  tatters  of  gold-leaf, 
fresh  and  old,  upon  the  rows  of  placid  grinning 
Buddhas.  The  vision  was  of  short  duration. 
The  sigh,  which  had  been  so  long  repressed, 
escaped;  his  shoulders  sank  a  little,  and  the 
angle  of  his  chin  became  less  resolute;  but  only 
for  a  moment.  Tension  gave  place  to  an 
ironical  grimness.  The  brows  relaxed,  but 
the  lips  became  firmer.  He  listened,  with  this 
new  expression  unchanging,  to  the  high  note 
that  soared  above  all  others.  The  French 
horns  blared  and  the  timpani  crashed.  The 


AT  THE  STAGE  DOOR  3 

curtain  sank  slowly.  The  audience  rustled, 
stood  up,  sought  its  wraps,  and  pressed  toward 
the  exits  and  the  grand  staircase.  It  was  all 
over. 

Courtlandt  took  his  leave  in  leisure.  Here 
and  there  he  saw  familiar  faces,  but  these, 
after  the  finding  glance,  he  studiously  avoided. 
He  wanted  to  be  alone.  For  while  the  music 
was  still  echoing  in  his  ears,  in  a  subtone,  his 
brain  was  afire  with  keen  activity;  but  unfor 
tunately  for  the  going  forward  of  things,  this 
mental  state  was  divided  into  so  many  battal 
ions,  led  by  so  many  generals,  indirectly  and 
indecisively,  nowhere.  This  plan  had  no  be 
ginning,  that  one  had  no  ending,  and  the  other 
neither  beginning  nor  ending.  Outside  he 
lighted  a  cigar,  not  because  at  that  moment  he 
possessed  a  craving  for  nicotine,  but  because 
like  all  inveterate  smokers  he  believed  that  to 
bacco  conduced  to  clarity  of  thought.  And 
mayhap  it  did.  At  least,  there  presently  fol 
lowed  a  mental  calm  that  expelled  all  this 


4     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

confusion.  The  goal  \vaxed  and  waned  as  he 
gazed  down  the  great  avenue  with  its  precise 
rows  of  lamps.  Far  away  he  could  discern  the 
outline  of  the  brooding  Louvre. 

There  was  not  the  least  hope  in  the  world 
for  him  to  proceed  toward  his  goal  this  night. 
He  realized  this  clearly,  now  that  he  was 
face  to  face  with  actualities.  It  required 
more  than  the  chaotic  impulses  that  had 
brought  him  back  from  the  jungles  of  the 
Orient.  He  must  reason  out  a  plan  that 
should  be  like  a  straight  line,  the  short 
est  distance  between  two  given  points.  How 
then  should  he  pass  the  night,  since  none  of 
his  schemes  could  possibly  be  put  into  opera 
tion?  Return  to  his  hotel  and  smoke  himself 
headachy?  Try  to  become  interested  in  a 
novel  ?  Go  to  bed,  to  turn  and  roll  till  dawn  ? 
A  wild  desire  seized  him  to  make  a  night  of 
it, —  Maxim's,  the  cabarets ;  riot  and  wine. 
Who  cared?  But  the  desire  burnt  itself  out 
between  two  puffs  of  his  cigar.  Ten  years 


AT  THE  STAGE  DOOR  5 

ago,  perhaps,  this  particular  brand  of  amuse 
ment  might  have  urged  him  successfully.  But 
not  now;  he  was  done  with  tomfool  nights. 
Indeed,  his  dissipations  had  been  whimsical 
rather  than  banal;  and  retrospection  never 
aroused  a  furtive  sense  of  shame. 

He  was  young,  but  not  so  young  as  an  idle 
glance  might  conjecture  in  passing.  To  such 
casual  reckoning  he  appeared  to  be  in  the  early 
twenties;  but  scrutiny,  more  or  less  infallible, 
noting  a  line  here  or  an  angle  there,  was  dis 
posed  to  add  ten  years  to  the  score.  There 
was  in  the  nose  and  chin  a  certain  decisiveness 
which  in  true  youth  is  rarely  developed.  This 
characteristic  arrives  only  with  manhood, 
manhood  that  has  been  tried  and  perhaps 
buffeted  and  perchance  a  little  disillusioned. 
To  state  that  one  is  young  does  not  necessarily 
imply  youth;  for  youth  is  something  that  is 
truly  green  and  tender,  not  rounded  out,  aim 
less,  light-hearted  and  desultory,  charming 
and  inconsequent.  If  man  regrets  his  youth 


6     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

it    is   not    for   the   passing  of   these   pleasing 
though  tangled  attributes,  but  rather  because 
there  exists  between  the  two  periods  of  pro* 
gression   a   series    of    irremediable   mistakes 
And   the    subject   of   this   brief  commentarj 
could    look   back   on   many   a    grievous    one. 
brought  about  by  pride  or  carelessness  rathed 
than  by  intent. 

But  what  was  one  to  do  who  had  both 
money  and  leisure  linked  to  an  irresistible  de 
sire  to  leave  behind  one  place  or  thing  in  pur« 
suit  of  another,  indeterminately?  At  one 
time  he  wanted  to  be  an  artist,  but  his  evenly 
balanced  self-criticism  had  forced  him  to  fling 
his  daubs  into  the  ash-heap.  They  were  good 
daubs  in  a  way,  but  were  laid  on  without  fire; 
such  work  as  any  respectable  schoolmarm 
might  have  equaled  if  not  surpassed.  Then 
he  had  gone  in  for  engineering;  but  precise 
and  intricate  mathematics  required  patience  of 
a  quality  not  at  his  command. 

The  inherent  ambition  was  to  make  money; 


AT  THE  STAGE  DOOR  7 

but  recognizing  the  absurdity  of  adding  to  his 
income,  which  even  in  his  extravagance  he 
could  not  spend,  he  gave  himself  over  into  the 
hands  of  grasping  railroad  and  steamship  com 
panies,  or  their  agencies,  and  became  for  a  time 
the  slave  of  guide  and  dragoman  and  carrier. 
And  then  the  wanderlust,  descended  to  him 
from  the  blood  of  his  roving  Dutch  ancestors, 
which  had  lain  dormant  in  the  several  genera 
tions  following,  sprang  into  active  life  again. 
He  became  known  in  every  port  of  call.  He 
became  known  also  in  the  wildernesses. 
He  had  climbed  almost  inaccessible  mountains, 
in  Europe,  in  Asia;  he  had  fished  and  hunted 
north,  east,  south  and  west;  he  had  fitted  out 
polar  expeditions;  he  had  raided  the  pearl 
markets;  he  had  made  astonishing  gifts  to 
women  who  had  pleased  his  fancy,  but  whom 
he  did  not  know  or  seek  to  know ;  he  had  kept 
some  of  his  intimate  friends  out  of  bank 
ruptcy;  he  had  given  the  most  extravagant 
dinners  at  one  season  and,  unknown,  had  sup- 


8     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

ported  a  bread-line  at  another;  he  had  even 
financed  a  musical  comedy. 

Whatever  had  for  the  moment  appealed  to 
his  fancy,  that  he  had  done.  That  the  world 
—  his  world  —  threw  up  its  hands  in  wonder 
and  despair  neither  disturbed  him  nor  swerved 
him  in  the  least.  He  was  alone,  absolute  mas 
ter  of  his  millions.  Mamas  with  marriage 
able  daughters  declared  that  he  was  impossi 
ble;  the  marriageable  daughters  never  had  a 
chance  to  decide  one  way  or  the  other ;  and  men 
called  him  a  fool.  He  had  promoted  elephant 
fights  which  had  stirred  the  Indian  princes  out 
of  their  melancholy  indifference,  and  tiger 
hunts  which  had,  by  their  duration  and  mag 
nificence,  threatened  to  disrupt  the  efficiency  of 
the  British  military  service, —  whimsical  ex 
cesses,  not  understandable  by  his  intimate  ac 
quaintances  who  cynically  arraigned  him  as  the 
fool  and  his  money. 

But,  like  the  villain  in  the  play,  his  income 
still  pursued  him.  Certain  scandals  inevitably 


AT  THE  STAGE  DOOR  9 

followed,  scandals  he  was  the  last  to  hear 
about  and  the  last  to  deny  when  he  heard 
them.  Many  persons,  not  being  able  to  take 
into  the  mind  and  analyze  a  character  like 
Courtlandt's,  sought  the  line  of  least  resist 
ance  for  their  understanding,  and  built  some 
precious  exploits  which  included  dusky  island- 
princesses,  diaphanous  dancers,  and  comic- 
opera  stars. 

Simply,  he  was  without  direction;  a  thou 
sand  goals  surrounded  him  and  none  burned 
with  that  brightness  which  draws  a  man  to 
ward  his  destiny:  until  one  day.  Personally, 
he  possessed  graces  of  form  and  feature,  and 
was  keener  mentally  than  most  young  men 
who  inherit  great  fortunes  and  distinguished 
names. 

Automobiles  of  all  kinds  panted  hither  and 
thither.  An  occasional  smart  coupe  went  by 
as  if  to  prove  that  prancing  horses  were  still 
necessary  to  the  dignity  of  the  old  aristocracy. 


io     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

Courtlandt  made  up  his  mind  suddenly.  He 
laughed  with  bitterness.  He  knew  now  that 
to  loiter  near  the  stage  entrance  had  been  his 
real  purpose  all  along,  and  persistent  lying  to 
himself  had  not  prevailed.  In  due  time  he 
took  his  stand  among  the  gilded  youth  who 
were  not  privileged  (like  their  more  prosper 
ous  elders)  to  wait  outside  the  dressing-rooms 
for  their  particular  ballerina.  By  and  by  there 
was  a  little  respectful  commotion.  Court- 
landt's  hand  went  instinctively  to  his  collar, 
not  to  ascertain  if  it  were  properly  adjusted, 
but  rather  to  relieve  the  sudden  pressure.  He 
was  enraged  at  his  weakness.  He  wanted  to 
turn  away,  but  he  could*  not. 

A  woman  issued  forth,  muffled  in  silks  and 
light  furs.  She  was  followed  by  another, 
quite  possibly  her  maid.  One  may  observe 
very  well  at  times  from  the  corner  of  the  eye ; 
that  is,  objects  at  which  one  is  not  looking 
come  within  the  range  of  vision.  The  woman 
paused,  her  foot  upon  the  step  of  the  modest 


AT  THE  STAGE  DOOR  ir 

limousine.  She  whispered  something  hur 
riedly  into  her  companion's  ear,  something 
evidently  to  the  puzzlement  of  the  latter,  who 
looked  around  irresolutely.  She  obeyed,  how 
ever,  and  retreated  to  the  stage  entrance.  A 
man,  quite  as  tall  as  Courtlandt,  his  face 
shaded  carefully,  intentionally  perhaps,  by  one 
of  those  soft  Bavarian  hats  that  are  worn 
successfully  only  by  Germans,  stepped  out  of 
the  gathering  to  proffer  his  assistance.  Court 
landt  pushed  him  aside  calmly,  lifted  his  hat, 
and  smiling  ironically,  closed  the  door  behind 
the  singer.  The  step  which  the  other  man 
made  toward  Courtlandt  was  unequivocal  in 
its  meaning.  But  even  as  Courtlandt  squared 
himself  to  meet  the  coming  outburst,  the  stran 
ger  paused,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  turned 
and  made  off. 

The  lady  in  the  limousine  —  very  pale  could 
any  have  looked  closely  into  her  face  —  was 
whirled  away  into  the  night  Courtlandt  did 
not  stir  from  the  curb.  The  limousine  dwin- 


12     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

died,  once  it  flashed  under  a  light,  and  then 
vanished. 

"  It  is  the  American,"  said  one  of  the  wait 
ing  dandies. 

"The  icicle!" 

"  The  volcano,  rather,  which  fools  believe 
extinct." 

"  Probably  sent  back  her  maid  for  her  Bible. 
Ah,  these  Americans ;  they  are  very  amusing." 

"  She  was  in  magnificent  voice  to-night.  I 
wonder  why  she  never  sings  Carmen?" 

"  Have  I  not  said  that  she  is  too  cold  ? 
What!  would  you  see  frost  grow  upon  the 
toreador's  mustache?  And  what  a  name, 
what  a  name !  Eleonora  da  Toscana !  " 

Courtlandt  was  not  in  the  most  amiable  con 
dition  of  mind,  and  a  hint  of  the  ribald  would 
have  instantly  transformed  a  passive  anger  into 
a  blind  fury.  Thus,  a  scene  hung  precari 
ously;  but  its  potentialities  became  as  nothing 
on  the  appearance  of  another  woman. 

This  woman  was  richly  dressed,  too  richly. 


AT  THE  STAGE  DOOR  13 

Apparently  she  had  trusted  her  modiste  not 
wisely  but  too  well :  there  was  the  strange  and 
unaccountable  inherent  love  of  fine  feathers 
and  warm  colors  which  is  invariably  the  mute 
utterance  of  peasant  blood.  She  was  followed 
by  a  Russian,  huge  of  body,  Jovian  of  counte 
nance.  An  expensive  car  rolled  up  to  the 
curb.  A  liveried  footman  jumped  down  from 
beside  the  chauffeur  and  opened  the  door. 
The  diva  turned  her  head  this  way  and  that,  a 
thin  smile  of  satisfaction  stirring  her  lips. 
•For  Flora  Desimone  loved  the  human  eye 
whenever  it  stared  admiration  into  her  own; 
and  she  spent  half  her  days  setting  traps  and 
lures,  rather  successfully.  She  and  her  for 
midable  escort  got  into  the  car  which  immedi 
ately  went  away  with  a  soft  purring  sound. 
There  was  breeding  in  the  engine,  anyhow, 
thought  Courtlandt,  who  longed  to  put  his 
strong  fingers  around  that  luxurious  throat 
which  had,  but  a  second  gone,  passed  him  so 
closely. 


14     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  We  shall  never  have  war  with  Russia." 
said  some  one ;  "  her  dukes  love  Paris  too 
well." 

Light  careless  laughter  followed  this  cyni 
cal  observation.  Another  time  Courtlandt 
might  have  smiled.  He  pushed  his  way  into 
the  passage  leading  to  the  dressing-rooms, 
and  followed  its  windings  until  he  met  a  hu 
man  barrier.  To  his  inquiry  the  answer  was 
abrupt  and  perfectly  clear  in  its  meaning:  La 
Signorina  da  Toscana  had  given  most  em 
phatic  orders  not  to  disclose  her  address  to 
any  one.  Monsieur  might,  if  he  pleased,  make 
further  inquiries  of  the  directors;  the  answer 
there  would  be  the  same.  Presently  he  found 
himself  gazing  down  the  avenue  once  more. 
There  were  a  thousand  places  to  go  to,  a  thou 
sand  pleasant  things  to  do;  yet  he  doddered, 
full  of  ill-temper,  dissatisfaction,  and  self- 
contempt.  He  was  weak,  damnably  weak; 
and  for  years  he  had  admired  himself,  de- 
tachedly,  as  a  man  of  pride.  He  started  for- 


AT  THE  STAGE  DOOR  15 

ward,   neither   sensing  his   direction  nor  the 
perfected  flavor  of  his  Habana. 

Opera  singers  were  truly  a  race  apart. 
They  lived  in  the  world  but  were  not  a  part 
of  it,  and  when  they  died,  left  only  a  memory 
which  faded  in  one  generation  and  became  to 
tally  forgotten  in  another.  What  jealousies, 
what  petty  bickerings,  what  extravagances! 
With  fancy  and  desire  unchecked,  what  in 
genious  tricks  they  used  to  keep  themselves  in 
the  public  mind, —  tricks  begot  of  fickleness 
and  fickleness  begetting.  And  yet,  it  was  a 
curious  phase:  their  influence  was  generally 
found  when  history  untangled  for  posterity 
some  Gordian  knot.  In  old  times  they  had 
sung  the  Marseillaise  and  danced  the  carmag 
nole  and  indirectly  plied  the  guillotine.  And 
to-day  they  smashed  prime  ministers,  petty 
kings,  and  bankers,  and  created  fashions  for 
the  ruin  of  husbands  and  fathers  of  modest 
means.  Devil  take  them!  And  Courtlandt 
flung  his  cigar  into  the  street. 


16     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

He  halted.  The  Madeleine  was  not  exactly 
the  goal  for  a  man  who  had,  half  an  hour 
before,  contemplated  a  rout  at  Maxim's.  His 
glance  described  a  half-circle.  There  was 
Durand's ;  but  Durand's  on  opera  nights  enter 
tained  many  Americans,  and  he  did  not  care 
to  meet  any  of  his  compatriots  to-night.  So 
he  turned  down  the  Rue  Royale,  on  the  oppo 
site  side,  and  went  into  the  Taverne  Royale, 
where  the  patrons  were  not  over  particular  in 
regard  to  the  laws  of  fashion,  and  where  cer 
tain  ladies  with  light  histories  sought  further 
adventures  to  add  to  their  heptamerons. 
Now,  Courtlandt  thought  neither  of  the  one 
nor  of  the  other.  He  desired  isolation,  safety 
from  intrusion;  and  here,  did  he  so  signify,  he 
could  find  it.  Women  gazed  up  at  him  and 
smiled,  with  interest  as  much  as  with  invita 
tion.  He  was  brown  from  long  exposure  to 
the  wind  and  the  sun,  that  golden  brown  which 
is  the  gift  of  the  sun-glitter  on  rocking  seas. 
A  traveler  is  generally  indicated  by  this 


AT  THE  STAGE  DOOR  17 

artistry  of  the  sun,  and  once  noted  instantly 
creates  a  speculative  interest.  Even  his  light 
brown  hair  had  faded  at  the  temples,  and 
straw-colored  was  the  slender  mustache,  the 
ends  of  which  had  a  cavalier  twist.  He  ig 
nored  the  lips  which  smiled  and  the  eyes  which 
invited,  and  nothing  more  was  necessary. 
One  is  not  importuned  at  the  Taverne  Royale. 
He  sat  down  at  a  vacant  table  and  ordered  a 
pint  of  champagne,  drinking  hastily  rather 
than  thirstily. 

Would  Monsieur  like  anything  to  eat  ? 

No,  the  wine  was  sufficient 

Courtlandt  poured  out  a  second  glass  slowly. 
The  wine  bubbled  up  to  the  brim  and  over 
flowed.  He  had  been  looking  at  the  glass  with 
unseeing  eyes.  He  set  the  bottle  down  impa 
tiently.  Fool !  To  have  gone  to  Burma,  sim 
ply  to  stand  in  the  golden  temple  once  more,  in 
vain,  to  recall  that  other  time:  the  starving 
kitten  held  tenderly  in  a  woman's  arms,  his 
own  scurry  among  the  booths  to  find  the  milk 


i8     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

so  peremptorily  ordered,  and  the  smile  of 
thanks  that  had  been  his  reward!  He  had 
run  away  when  he  should  have  hung  on.  He 
should  have  fought  every  inch  of  the 
way.  .  .  . 

"  Monsieur  is  lonely?  " 

A  pretty  young  woman  sat  down  before  him 
in  the  vacant  chair. 


CHAPTER  II 

THERE   IS    A    WOMAN? 

AXGER,  curiosity,  interest;  these  sensa 
tions  blanketed  one  another  quickly, 
leaving  only  interest,  which  was  Courtlandt's 
normal  state  of  mind  when  he  saw  a  pretty 
woman.  It  did  not  require  very  keen 
scrutiny  on  his  part  to  arrive  swiftly  at  the 
conclusion  that  this  one  was  not  quite  in  the 
picture.  Her  cheeks  were  not  red  with  that 
redness  which  has  a  permanency  of  tone, 
neither  waxing  nor  waning,  abashed  in  day 
light.  Nor  had  her  lips  found  their  scarlet 
moisture  from  out  the  depths  of  certain  little 
porcelain  boxes.  Decidedly  she  was  out  of 
place  here,  yet  she  evinced  no  embarrassment; 
she  was  cool,  at  ease.  Courtlandt's  interest 
strengthened. 


20     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  Why  do  you  think  I  am  lonely,  Made 
moiselle?  "  he  asked,  without  smiling. 

"  Oh,  when  one  talks  to  one's  self,  strikes 
the  table,  \vastes  good  wine,  the  inference  is 
but  natural.  So,  Monsieur  is  lonely." 

Her  lips  and  eyes,  as  grave  and  smileless  as 
his  own,  puzzled  him.  An  adventure?  He 
looked  at  some  of  the  other  women.  Those 
he  could  understand,  but  this  one,  no.  At  all 
times  he  was  willing  to  smile,  yet  to  draw  her 
out  he  realized  that  he  must  preserve  his  grav 
ity  unbroken.  The  situation  was  not  usual. 
His  gaze  came  back  to  her. 

"Is  the  comparison  favorable  to  me?"  she 
asked. 

"  It  is.  What  is  loneliness  ?  "  he  demanded 
cynically. 

"  Ah,  I  could  tell  you,"  she  answered.  "  It 
is  the  longing  to  be  with  the  one  we  love;  it 
is  the  hate  of  the  wicked  things  we  have  done; 
it  is  remorse." 

"  That    echoes    of   the   Ambigu-Comique." 


THERE  IS  A  WOMAN?  21 

He  leaned  upon  his  arms.  "  What  are  you 
doing  here?" 

"I?" 

"  Yes.  You  do  not  talk  like  the  other  girls 
who  come  here." 

"  Monsieur  comes  here  frequently,  then  ?  " 

"  This  is  the  first  time  in  five  years.  I 
came  here  to-night  because  I  wanted  to  be 
alone,  because  I  did  not  wish  to  meet  any  one 
I  knew.  I  have  scowled  at  every  girl  in  the 
room,  and  they  have  wisely  left  me  alone.  I 
haven't  scowled  at  you  because  I  do  not  know 
what  to  make  of  you.  That's  frankness. 
Now,  you  answer  my  question." 

"  Would  you  spare  me  a  glass  of  wine?  I 
am  thirsty." 

He  struck  his  hands  together,  a  bit  of  ori 
entalism  he  had  brought  back  with  him.  The 
observant  waiter  instantly  came  forward  with 
a  glass. 

The  young  woman  sipped  the  wine,  gazing 
into  the  glass  as  she  did  so.  "  Perhaps  a 


22     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

whim  brought  me  here.  But  I  repeat,-  Mon 
sieur  is  lonely." 

"  So  lonely  that  I  am  almost  tempted  to  put 
you  into  a  taxicab  and  run  away  with  you." 

She  set  down  the  glass. 

"  But  I  sha'n't,"  he  added. 

The  spark  of  eagerness  in  her  eyes  was  in 
stantly  curtained.  "There  is  a  woman?" 
tentatively. 

"  Is  there  not  always  a  woman  ?  " 

"  And  she  has  disappointed  Monsieur  ? " 
There  was  no  marked  sympathy  in  the  tone. 

"  Since  Eve,  has  that  not  been  woman's  part 
in  the  human  comedy  ?  "  He  was  almost  cer 
tain  that  her  lips  became  firmer.  "  Smile,  if 
you  wish.  It  is  not  prohibitory  here." 

It  was  evident  that  the  smile  had  been  strug 
gling  for  existence,  for  it  endured  to  the  ful 
ness  of  half  a  minute.  She  had  fine  teeth. 
He  scrutinized  her  more  closely,  and  she  bore 
it  well.  The  forehead  did  not  make  for 
beauty ;  it  was  too  broad  and  high,  intellectual. 


THERE  IS  A  WOMAN?  23 

Her  eyes  were  splendid.  There  was  nothing 
at  all  ordinary  about  her.  His  sense  of  puz 
zlement  renewed  itself  and  deepened.  What 
did  she  want  of  him?  There  were  other  men, 
other  vacant  chairs. 

"  Monsieur  is  certain  about  the  taxicab  ?  " 

"  Absolutely." 

"  Ah,  it  is  to  emulate  Saint  Anthony !  " 

"  There  are  several  saints  of  that  name. 
To  which  do  you  refer?  " 

"  Positively  not  to  him  of  Padua." 

Courtlandt  laughed.  "  No,  I  can  not  fancy 
myself  being  particularly  concerned  about 
bambini.  No,  my  model  is  Noah." 

"Noah?"  dubiously. 

"  Yes.  At  the  time  of  the  flood  there  was 
only  one  woman  in  the  world." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  your  knowledge  of  that 
event  is  somewhat  obscured.  Still,  I  under 
stand." 

She  lifted  the  wine-glass  again,  and  then  he 
noticed  her  hand.  It  was  large,  white  and 


24     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

strong;  it  was  not  the  hand  of  a  woman  who 
dallied,  who  idled  in  primrose  paths. 

"  Tell  me,  what  is  it  you  wish  ?  You  inter 
est  me,  at  a  moment,  too,  when  I  do  not  want 
to  be  interested.  Are  you  really  in  trouble? 
Is  there  anything  I  can  do  ...  barring 
the  taxicab?  " 

She  twirled  the  glass,  uneasily.  "  I  am  not 
in  actual  need  of  assistance." 

"  But  you  spoke  peculiarly  regarding  loneli 
ness." 

"  Perhaps  I  like  the  melodrama.  You 
spoke  of  the  Ambigu-Comique." 

"  You  are  on  the  stage  ?  " 

"  Perhaps." 

"The  Opera?" 

"  Again  perhaps." 

He  laughed  once  more,  and  drew  his  chair 
closer  to  the  table. 

"  Monsieur  in  other  moods  must  have  a 
pleasant  laughter." 

"  I  haven't  laughed  from  the  heart  in  a  very 


THERE  IS  A  WOMAN?  25 

long  time,"  he  said,  returning  to  his  former 
gravity,  this  time  unassumed. 

"  And  I  have  accomplished  this  amazing 
thing?" 

"  No.  You  followed  me  here.  But  from 
where  ?  " 

"  Followed  you  ?  "  The  effort  to  give  a 
mocking  accent  to  her  voice  was  a  failure. 

"  Yes.  The  idea  just  occurred  to  me. 
There  were  other  vacant  chairs,  and  there  was 
nothing  inviting  in  my  facial  expression. 
'  Come,  let  me  have  the  truth." 

"  I  have  a  friend  who  knows  Flora  Desi- 
mone." 

"Ah!"  As  if  this  information  was  a  di 
rect  visitation  of  kindness  from  the  gods. 
"  Then  you  know  where  the  Calabrian  lives  ? 
Give  me  her  address." 

There  was  a  minute  wrinkle  above  the  un 
known's  nose;  the  shadow  of  a  frown.  "  She 
is  very  beautiful." 

"  Bah !     Did  she  send  you  after  me  ?     Give 


26     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

me  her  address.  I  have  come  all  the  way 
from  Burma  to  see  Flora  Desimone." 

"To  see  her?"  She  unguardedly  clothed 
the  question  with  contempt,  but  she  instantly 
forced  a  smile  to  neutralize  the  effect.  Con 
cerned  with  her  own  defined  conclusions,  she 
lost  the  fine  ironic  bitterness  that  was  in  the 
man's  voice. 

"Aye,  indeed,  to  see  her!  Beautiful  as 
Venus,  as  alluring  as  Phryne,  I  want  nothing 
so  much  as  to  see  her,  to  look  into  her  eyes,  to 
hear  her  voice !  " 

"Is  it  jealousy?  I  hear  the  tragic  note." 
The  certainty  of  her  ground  became  as  morass 
again.  In  his  turn  he  was  puzzling  her. 

"  Tragedy  ?  I  am  an  American.  We  do 
not  kill  opera  singers.  We  turn  them  over  to 
the  critics.  I  wish  to  see  the  beautiful  Flora, 
to  ask  her  a  few  questions.  If  she  has  sent 
you  after  me,  her  address,  my  dear  young 
lady,  her  address."  His  eyes  burned. 

"  I  am  afraid."     And  she  was  so.     This 


THERE  IS  A  WOMAN?  27 

wasn't  the  tone  of  a  man  madly  in  love.  It 
was  wild  anger. 

"Afraid  of  what?" 

"  You." 

"  I  will  give  you  a  hundred  francs."  He 
watched  her  closely  and  shrewdly. 

Came  the  little  wrinkle  again,  but  this  time 
urged  in  perplexity.  "  A  hundred  francs,  for 
something  I  was  sent  to  tell  you  ?  " 

"  And  now  refuse." 

"  It  is  very  generous.  She  has  a  heart  of 
flint,  Monsieur." 

"  Well  I  know  it.  Perhaps  now  I  have  one 
of  steel." 

"  Many  sparks  do  not  make  a  fire.  Do  you 
know  that  your  French  is  very  good  ?  " 

"  I  spent  my  boyhood  in  Paris;  some  of  it. 
Her  address,  if  you  please."  He  produced  a 
crisp  note  for  a  hundred  francs.  "  Do  you 
want  it?" 

She  did  not  answer  at  once.  Presently  she 
opened  her  purse,  found  a  stubby  pencil  and  a 


28     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

slip  of  paper,  and  wrote.  "  There  it  is,  Mon 
sieur."  She  held  out  her  hand  for  the  bank 
note  which,  with  a  sense  of  bafflement,  he  gave 
her.  She  folded  the  note  and  stowed  it  away 
with  the  pencil. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Courtlandt.  "Odd 
paper,  though."  He  turned  it  over.  "  Ah,  I 
understand.  You  copy  music." 

"  Yes,  Monsieur." 

This  time  the  nervous  flicker  of  her  eyes  did 
not  escape  him.  "  You  are  studying  for  the 
opera,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  it." 

The  eagerness  of  the  admission  convinced 
him  that  she  was  not.  Who  she  was  or 
whence  she  had  come  no  longer  excited  his  in 
terest.  He  had  the  Calabrian's  address  and 
he  was  impatient  to  be  off. 

"  Good  night."     He  rose. 

"  Monsieur  is  not  gallant." 

"  I  was  in  my  youth,"  he  replied,  putting  on 
his  hat. 


THERE  IS  A  WOMAN?  29 

The  bald  rudeness  of  his  departure  did  not 
disturb  her.  She  laughed  softly  and  reliev- 
edly.  Indeed,  there  was  in  the  laughter  an 
essence  of  mischief.  However,  if  he  carried 
away  a  mystery,  he  left  one  behind. 

As  he  was  hunting  for  a  laxicab,  the  waiter 
ran  out  and  told  him  that  he  had  forgotten  to 
settle  for  the  wine.  The  lady  had  refused  to 
do  so.  Courtlandt  chuckled  and  gave  him  a 
ten- franc  piece.  In  other  days,  in  other  cir 
cumstances,  he  would  have  liked  to  know  more 
about  the  unknown  who  scribbled  notes  on 
composition  paper.  She  was  not  an  idler  in 
the  Rue  Royale,  and  it  did  not  require  that 
indefinable  intuition  which  comes  of  worldly- 
wiseness  to  discover  this  fact.  She  might  be 
a  friend  of  the  Desimone  woman,  but  she  had 
stepped  out  of  another  sphere  to  become  so. 
He  recognized  the  quality  that  could  adjust 
itself  to  any  environment  and  come  out  scathe 
less.  This  was  undeniably  an  American  ac 
complishment;  and  yet  she  was  distinctly  a 


30     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

Frenchwoman.  He  dismissed  the  problem 
from  his  mind  and  bade  the  driver  go  as  fast 
as  the  police  would  permit. 

Meanwhile  the  young  woman  waited  five  or 
ten  minutes,  and,  making  sure  that  Courtlandt 
had  been  driver  off,  left  the  restaurant. 
Round  the  corner  she  engaged  a  carriage.  So 
that  was  Edward  Courtlandt?  She  liked  his 
face;  there  was  not  a  weak  line  in  it,  unless 
stubbornness  could  be  called  such.  But  to 
stay  awray  for  two  years !  To  hide  himself  in 
jungles,  to  be  heard  of  only  by  his  harebrained 
exploits!  "Follow  him;  see  where  he  goes," 
had  been  the  command.  For  a  moment  she 
had  rebelled,  but  her  curiosity  was  not  to  be 
denied.  Besides,  of  what  use  was  friendship 
if  not  to  be  tried?  She  knew  nothing  of  the 
riddle,  she  had  never  asked  a  question  openly. 
She  had  accidentally  seen  a  photograph  one 
day,  in  a  trunk  tray,  with  this  man's  name 
scrawled  across  it,  and  upon  this  flimsy  base 
she  had  builded  a  dozen  romances,  each  of 


THERE  IS  A  WOMAN?  31 

\vhich  she  had  ruthlessly  torn  down  to  make 
room  for  another;  but  still  the  riddle  lay  un 
solved.  She  had  thrown  the  name  into  the 
conversation  many  a  time,  as  one  might  throw 
a  bomb  into  a  crowd  which  had  no  chance  to 
escape.  Fizzles!  The  man  had  been  calmly 
discussed  and  calmly  dismissed.  At  odd  times 
an  article  in  the  newspapers  gave  her  an  op 
portunity;  still  the  frank  discussion,  still  the 
calm  dismissal.  She  had  learned  that  the  man 
was  rich,  irresponsible,  vacillating,  a  pictur 
esque  sort  of  fool.  But  two  years?  What 
had  kept  him  away  that  long?  A  weak  man, 
in  love,  would  not  have  made  so  tame  a  sur 
render.  Perhaps  he  had  not  surrendered; 
perhaps  neither  of  them  had. 

And  yet,  he  sought  the  Calabrian.  Here 
was  another  blind  alley  out  of  which  she  had 
to  retrace  her  steps.  Bother!  That  Puck  of 
Shakespeare  was  right:  What  fools  these 
mortals  be!  She  was  very  glad  that  she  pos 
sessed  a  true  sense  of  humor,  spiced  with 


32     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

harmless  audacity.  What  a  dreary  world  it 
must  be  to  those  who  did  not  know  how  and 
when  to  laugh!  They  talked  of  the  daring  of 
the  American  woman:  who  but  a  French 
woman  would  have  dared  what  she  had  this 
night?  The  taxicab!  She  laughed.  And 
this  man  was  wax  in  the  hands  of  any  pretty 
woman  who  came  along!  So  rumor  had  it. 
But  she  knew  that  rumor  was  only  the  at 
tenuated  ghost  of  Ananias,  doomed  forever  to 
remain  on  earth  for  the  propagation  of  in 
accurate  whispers.  Wax!  Why,  she  would 
have  trusted  herself  in  any  situation  with  a 
man  with  those  eyes  and  that  angle  of  jaw. 
It  was  all  very  mystifying.  "Follow  him; 
see  where  he  goes."  The  frank  discussion, 
then,  and  the  calm  dismissal  were  but  a 
woman's  dissimulation.  And  he  had  gone  to 
Flora  Desimone's. 

The  carriage  stopped  before  a  handsome 
apartment-house  in  the  Avenue  de  Wagram. 
The  unknown  got  out,  gave  the  driver  his 


THERE  IS  A  WOMAN?  33 

fare,  and  rang  the  concierge's  bell.  The 
sleepy  guardian  opened  the  door,  touched  his 
gold-braided  cap  in  recognition,  and  led  the 
way  to  the  small  electric  lift.  The  young 
woman  entered  and  familiarly  pushed  the 
button.  The  apartment  in  which  she  lived 
was  on  the  second  floor ;  and  there  was  luxury 
everywhere,  but  luxury  subdued  and  charmed 
by  taste.  There  were  fine  old  Persian  rugs  on 
the  floors,  exquisite  oils  and  water-colors  on 
the  walls;  and  rare  Japanese  silk  tapestries 
hung  between  the  doors.  In  one  corner  of  the 
living-room  was  a  bronze  jar  filled  with  ar 
tificial  cherry  blossoms;  in  another  corner 
near  the  door,  hung  a  flat  bell-shaped  piece  of 
brass  —  a  Burmese  gong.  There  were  many 
photographs  ranged  along  the  mantel-top; 
celebrities,  musical,  artistic  and  literary,  each 
accompanied  by  a  liberal  expanse  of  auto 
graphic  ink. 

She  threw  aside  her  hat  and  wraps   with 
that    manner    of    inconsequence    which    dis- 


34     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

tinguishes  the  artistic  temperament  from  the 
thrifty  one,  and  passed  on  into  the  cozy  din 
ing-room.  The  maid  had  arranged  some 
sandwiches  and  a  bottle  of  light  wine.  She 
ate  and  drank,  while  intermittent  smiles 
played  across  her  merry  face.  Having  satis 
fied  her  hunger,  she  opened  her  purse  and 
extracted  the  bank-note.  She  smoothed  it  out 
and  laughed  aloud. 

"  Oh,  if  only  he  had  taken  me  for  a  ride 
in  the  taxicab ! "  She  bubbled  again  with 
merriment. 

Suddenly  she  sprang  up,  as  if  inspired,  and 
dashed  into  another  room,  a  study.  She 
came  back  with  pen  and  ink,  and  with  a 
celerity  that  came  of  long  practise,  drew 
five  straight  lines  across  the  faint  violet  face 
of  the  bank-note.  Within  these  lines  she 
made  little  dots  at  the  top  and  bottom  of 
stubby  perpendicular  strokes,  and  strange 
interlineal  hieroglyphics,  and  sweeping  curves, 
all  of  which  would  have  puzzled  an  Egyptolo- 


THERE  IS  A  WOMAN?  35 

gist  if  he  were  unused  to  the  ways  of 
musicians.  Carefully  she  dried  the  composi 
tion,  and  then  put  the  note  away.  Some  day 
she  would  confound  him  by  returning  it. 

A  little  later  her  fingers  were  moving  softly 
over  the  piano  keys;  melodies  in  minor,  sad 
and  haunting  and  elusive,  melodies  that  had 
never  been  put  on  paper  and  would  always 
be  her  own:  in  them  she  might  leap  from 
comedy  to  tragedy,  from  laughter  to  tears,  and 
only  she  would  know.  The  midnight  ad 
venture  was  forgotten,  and  the  hero  of  it, 
too.  With  her  eyes  closed  and  her  lithe  body 
swaying  gently,  she  let  the  old  weary  pain  in 
her  heart  take  hold  again. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   BEAUTIFUL    TIGRESS 

FLORA  DESIMONE  had  been  born  in 
a  Calabrian  peasant's  hut,  and  she  had 
rolled  in  the  dust  outside,  yelling  vigorously  at 
all  times.  Specialists  declare  that  the  reason 
for  all  great  singers  coming  from  lowly  origin 
is  found  in  this  early  development  of  the 
muscles  of  the  throat.  Parents  of  means  em 
ploy  nurses  or  sedatives  to  suppress  or  at 
least  to  smother  these  infantile  protests  against 
being  thrust  inconsiderately  into  the  turmoil  of 
human  beings.  Flora  yelled  or  slept,  as  the 
case  might  be;  her  parents  were  equally  indif 
ferent.  They  were  too  busily  concerned  with 
the  getting  of  bread  and  wine.  Moreover, 
Flora  was  one  among  many.  The  gods  are  al 
ways  playing  with  the  Calabrian  peninsula, 
36 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  TIGRESS        37 

heaving  it  up  here  or  throwing  it  down  there : 
il  terremoto,  the  earthquake,  the  terror.  Here 
nature  tinkers  vicariously  with  souls;  and  she 
seldom  has  time  to  complete  her  work.  Con 
stant  communion  with  death  makes  for  cal 
losity  of  feeling;  and  the  Calabrians  and  the 
Sicilians  are  the  cruellest  among  the  civilized 
peoples.  Flora  was  ruthless. 

She  lived  amazingly  well  in  the  premier  of 
an  apartment-hotel  in  the  Champs-Elysees. 
In  England  and  America  she  had  amassed  a 
fortune.  Given  the  warm  beauty  of  the  South 
ern  Italian,  the  passion,  the  temperament,  the 
love  of  mischief,  the  natural  cruelty,  the  in 
ordinate  craving  for  attention  and  flattery, 
she  enlivened  the  nations  with  her  affairs. 
And  she  never  put  a  single  beat  of  her  heart 
into  any  of  them.  That  is  why  her  voice  is 
still  splendid  and  her  beauty  unchanging. 
She  did  not  dissipate;  calculation  always 
barred  her  inclination;  rather,  she  loitered 
about  the  Forbidden  Tree  and  played  that  she 


38     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

had  plucked  the  Apple.     She  had  an  example 
to  follow;  Eve  had  none. 

Men  scattered  fortunes  at  her  feet  as 
foolish  Greeks  scattered  floral  offerings  at  the 
feet  of  their  marble  gods  —  without  provok 
ing  the  sense  of  reciprocity  or  generosity  or 
mercy.  She  had  worked;  ah,  no  one  would 
ever  know  how  hard.  She  had  been  crushed, 
beaten,  cursed,  starved.  That  she  had  risen 
to  the  heights  in  spite  of  these  bruising  verbs 
in  no  manner  enlarged  her  pity,  but  dulled  and 
vitiated  the  little  there  was  of  it.  Her  mental 
attitude  toward  humanity  was  childish:  as, 
when  the  parent  strikes,  the  child  blindly 
strikes  back.  She  was  determined  to  play,  to 
enjoy  life,  to  give  back  blow  for  blow,  nor 
caring  where  she  struck.  She  was  going  to 
press  the  juice  from  every  grape.  A  thousand 
odd  years  gone,  she  would  have  led  the  cry 
in  Rome  — "  Bread  and  the  circus !  "  or  "  To 
the  lions ! "  She  would  have  disturbed 
Nero's  complacency,  and  he  would  have  played 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  TIGRESS        39 

an  obbligato  instead  of  a  solo  at  the  burning. 
And  she  was  malice  incarnate.  They  came 
from  all  climes  —  her  lovers  —  with  roubles 
and  lire  and  francs  and  shillings  and  dollars; 
and  those  who  finally  escaped  her  enchantment 
did  so  involuntarily,  for  lack  of  further  funds. 
They  called  her  villas  Circe's  isles.  She 
hated  but  twro  things  in  the  world;  the  man 
she  could  have  loved  and  the  woman  she  could 
not  surpass. 

Arrayed  in  a  kimono  which  would  have 
evoked  the  envy  of  the  empress  of  Japan,  sup 
posing  such  a  gorgeous  raiment  —  peacocks 
and  pine-trees,  brilliant  greens  and  olives  and 
blues  and  purples — fell  under  the  gaze  of 
that  lady's  slanting  eyes,  she  sat  opposite  the 
Slavonic  Jove  and  smoked  her  cigarette  be 
tween  sips  of  coffee.  Frequently  she  smiled. 
The  short  powerful  hand  of  the  man  stroked 
his  beard  and  he  beamed  out  of  his  cunning 
eyes,  eyes  a  trifle  too  porcine  to  suggest  a  keen 
intellect  above  them. 


40     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  I  am  like  a  gorilla,"  he  said ;  "  but  you  are 
like  a  sleek  tigress.  I  am  stronger,  more 
powerful  than  you;  but  I  am  always  in  fear 
of  your  claws.  Especially  when  you  smile 
like  that.  What  mischief  are  you  plotting 
now?" 

She  drew  in  a  cloud  of  smoke,  held  it  in 
her  puffed  cheeks  as  she  glided  round  the 
table  and  leaned  over  his  shoulders.  She  let 
the  smoke  drift  over  his  head  and  down  his 
beard.  In  that  moment  he  was  truly  Jovian. 

"  Would  you  like  me  if  I  were  a  tame 
cat  ?  "  she  purred. 

"  I  have  never  seen  you  in  that  role.  Per 
haps  I  might.  You  told  me  that  you  would 
give  up  everything  but  the  Paris  season." 

"  I  have  changed  my  mind."  She  ran  one 
hand  through  his  hair  and  the  other  she  en 
tangled  in  his  beard.  "  You'd  change  your 
mind,  too,  if  you  were  a  woman." 

"  I  don't  have  to  change  my  mind ;  you  are 
always  doing  it  for  me.  But  I  do  not  want 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  TIGRESS        41 

to  go  to  America  next  winter."  He  drew 
her  down  so  that  he  might  look  into  her  face. 
It  was  something  to  see. 

"  Bah ! "  She  released  herself  and  re 
turned  to  her  chair.  "  When  the  season  is 
over  I  want  to  go  to  Capri." 

"Capri!     Too  hot." 

"  I  want  to  go." 

"  My  dear,  a  dozen  exiles  are  there,  wait 
ing  to  blow  me  up."  He  spoke  Italian  well. 
"  You  do  not  wish  to  see  me  spattered  over 
the  beautiful  isle?  " 

"  Teh !  tch !  That  is  merely  your  usual  ex 
cuse.  You  never  had  anything  to  do  with  the 
police." 

"  No  ?  "  He  eyed  the  end  of  his  cigarette 
gravely.  "  One  does  not  have  to  be  affiliated 
with  the  police.  There  is  class  prejudice. 
We  Russians  are  very  fond  of  Egypt  in  the 
winter.  Capri  seems  to  be  the  half-way  place. 
They  wait  for  us,  going  and  coming.  Poor 
fools!" 


42     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  I  shall  go  alone,  then." 

"All  right."  In  his  dull  way  he  had 
learned  that  to  pull  the  diva,  one  must  agree 
with  her.  In  agreeing  with  her  one  adroitly 
dissuaded  her.  "  You  go  to  Capri,  and  I'll 
go  to  the  pavilion  on  the  Neva." 

She  snuffed  the  cigarette  in  the  coffee-cup 
and  frowned.  "  Some  day  you  will  make  me 
horribly  angry." 

"Beautiful  tigress!  If  a  man  knew  what 
you  wanted,  you  would  not  want  it.  I  can't 
hop  about  with  the  agility  of  those  dancers 
at  the  Theatre  du  Palais  Royale.  The  best  I 
can  do  is  to  imitate  the  bear.  What  is 
wrong?  " 

"  They  keep  giving  her  the  premier  parts. 
She  has  no  more  fire  in  her  than  a  dead 
grate.  The  English-speaking  singers,  they 
are  having  everything  their  own  way.  And 
none  of  them  can  act." 

"  My  dear  Flora,  this  Eleonora  is  an 
actress,  first  of  all.  That  she  can  sing  is  a 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  TIGRESS        43 

matter  of  good  fortune,  no  more.  Be  reason 
able.  The  consensus  of  critical  opinion  is 
generally  infallible ;  and  all  over  the  continent 
they  agree  that  she  can  act.  Come,  come; 
what  do  you  care?  She  will  never  approach 
your  Carmen.  .  .  ." 

"  You  praise  her  to  me  ?  "  tempest  in  her 
glowing  eyes. 

"  I  do  not  praise  her.  I  am  quoting  facts. 
If  you  throw  that  cup,  my  tigress.  .  .  ." 

"Well?"  dangerously. 

"  It  will  spoil  the  set.  Listen.  Some  one 
.is  at  the  speaking-tube." 

The  singer  crossed  the  room  impatiently. 
Ordinarily  she  would  have  continued  the  dis 
pute,  whether  the  bell  rang  or  not.  But  she 
was  getting  the  worst  of  the  argument  and 
the  bell  was  a  timely  diversion.  The  duke 
followed  her  leisurely  to  the  wall. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Flora  in  French. 

The  voice  below  answered  with  a  query  in 
English.  "Is  this  the  Signorina  Desimone?" 


44     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  It  is  the  duchess." 

"The  duchess?" 

"  Yes." 

"The  devil!" 

She  turned  and  stared  at  the  duke,  who 
shrugged.  "  No,  no,"  she  said ;  "  the  duchess, 
not  the  devil." 

"  Pardon  me ;  I  was  astonished.  But  on 
the  stage  you  are  still  Flora  Desimone  ? " 

"  Yes.  And  now  that  my  identity  is  es 
tablished,  who  are  you  and  what  do  you  want 
at  this  time  of  night?" 

The  duke  touched  her  arm  to  convey  that 
this  was  not  the  moment  in  which  to  betray 
her  temper. 

"  I  am  Edward  Courtlandt." 

"  The  devil !  "  mimicked  the  diva. 

She  and  the  duke  heard  a  chuckle. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  again,  Madame." 

"  Well,  what  is  it  you  wish  ?  "  amiably. 

The  duke  looked  at  her  perplexedly.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  she  was  always  leaving 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  TIGRESS        45 

him  in  the  middle  of  things.  Preparing  him 
self  for  rough  roads,  he  would  suddenly  find 
the  going  smooth.  He  was  never  swift 
enough  mentally  to  follow  these  flying 
transitions  from  enmity  to  amity.  In  the 
present  instance,  how  was  he  to  know  that  his 
tigress  had  found  in  the  man  below  something 
to  play  with? 

"  You  once  did  me  an  ill  turn,"  came  up 
the  tube.  "  I  desire  that  you  make  some 
reparation." 

"  Sainted  Mother !  but  it  has  taken  you  a 
long  time  to  find  out  that  I  have  injured  you," 
she  mocked. 

There  was  no  reply  to  this;  so  she  was  de 
termined  to  stir  the  fire  a  little. 

"  And  I  advise  you  to  be  careful  what  you 
say;  the  duke  is  a  very  jealous  man." 

That  gentleman  fingered  his  beard  thought 
fully. 

"  I  do  not  care  a  hang  if  he  is." 

The  duke  coughed  loudly  close  to  the  tube. 


46     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

Silence. 

'  The  least  you  can  do,  Madame,  is  to  give 
me  her  address." 

"  Her  address ! "  repeated  the  duke  re- 
lievedly.  He  had  had  certain  grave  doubts,  but 
these  now  took  wing.  Old  flames  were  not 
in  the  habit  of  asking,  nay,  demanding,  other 
women's  addresses. 

"  I  am  speaking  to  Madame,  your  High 
ness,"  came  sharply. 

"  We  do  not  speak  off  the  stage,"  said  the 
singer,  pushing  the  duke  aside. 

"  I  should  like  to  make  that  young  man's 
acquaintance,"  whispered  the  duke. 

She  warned  him  to  be  silent. 

Came  the  voice  again :  "  Will  you  give  me 
her  address,  please?  Your  messenger  gave 
me  your  address,  inferring  that  you  wished  to 
see  me." 

"  I  ?  "  There  was  no  impeaching  her  as 
tonishment. 

"  Yes,  Madame." 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  TIGRESS        47 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Courtlandt,  you  are  the  last 
man  in  all  the  wide  world  I  wish  to  see.  And 
I  do  not  quite  like  the  way  you  are  making 
your  request.  His  highness  does  not  either." 

"  Send  him  down !  " 

"  That  is  true." 

"What  is?" 

"  I  remember.  You  are  very  strong  and 
much  given  to  fighting." 

The  duke  opened  and  shut  his  hands,  pleas- 
urably.  Here  was  something  he  could  under 
stand.  He  was  a  fighting  man  himself. 
Where  was  this  going  to  end,  and  what  was 
it  all  about? 

"  Do  you  not  think,  Madame,  that  you  owe 
me  something?  " 

"No.  What  I  owe  I  pay.  Think,  Mr. 
Courtlandt;  think  well." 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  impatiently. 

"  Ebbenc,  I  owe  you  nothing.  Once  I 
heard  you  say  — '  I  do  not  like  to  see  you  with 
the  Calabrian ;  she  is  —  Well,  you  know.'  I 


48     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

stood  behind  you  at  another  time  when  you 
said  that  I  was  a  fool." 

"  Madame,  I  do  not  forget  that,  that  is  pure 
invention.  You  are  mistaken." 

"  No.  You  were.  I  am  no  fool."  A  light 
laugh  drifted  down  the  tube. 

"  Madame,  I  begin  to  see." 

"Ah!" 

"  You  believe  what  you  wish  to  believe." 

"  I  think  not." 

"  I  never  even  noticed  you,"  carelessly. 

"  Take  care ! "  whispered  the  duke,  who 
noted  the  sudden  dilation  of  her  nostrils. 

"  It  is  easy  to  forget,"  cried  the  diva, 
furiously.  "  It  is  easy  for  you  to  forget,  but 
not  for  me." 

"  Madame,  I  do  not  forget  that  you  entered 
my  room  that  night  .  .  ." 

"  Your  address !  "  bawled  the  duke.  "  That 
statement  demands  an  explanation." 

"  I  should  explain  at  once,  your  Highness," 
said  the  man  down  below  calmly,  "  only  I 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  TIGRESS        49 

prefer  to  leave  that  part  in  Madame's  hands. 
I  should  not  care  to  rob  her  of  anything  so  in 
teresting  and  dramatic.  Madame  the  duchess 
can  explain,  if  she  wishes.  I  am  stopping  at 
the  Grand,  if  you  find  her  explanations  are  not 
up  to  your  requirements." 

"  I  shall  give  you  her  address,"  interrupted 
the  diva,  hastily.  The  duke's  bristling  beard 
for  one  thing  and  the  ice  in  the  other  man's 
tones  for  another,  disquieted  her.  The  play 
had  gone  far  enough,  much  as  she  would  have 
liked  to  continue  it.  This  was  going  deeper 
than  she  cared  to  go.  She  gave  the  address 
and  added :  "  To-night  she  sings  at  the  Aus 
trian  ambassador's.  I  give  you  this  informa 
tion  gladly  because  I  know  that  it  will  be  of 
no  use  to  you." 

"  Then  I  shall  dispense  with  the  formality 
of  thanking  you.  I  add  that  I  wish  you  two 
fold  the  misery  you  have  carelessly  and 
gratuitously  cost  me.  Good  night !  "  Click ! 
went  the  little  covering  of  the  tube. 


50     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  Now,"  said  the  duke,  whose  knowledge  of 
the  English  tongue  was  not  so  indifferent  that 
he  did  not  gather  the  substance,  if  not  all  the 
shadings,  of  this  peculiar  conversation ;  "  now, 
what  the  devil  is  all  this  about  ?  " 

"I  hate  him!" 

"Refused  to  singe  his  wings?" 

"  He  has  insulted  me !  " 

"  I  am  curious  to  learn  about  that  night  you 
went  to  his  room." 

Her  bear  had  a  ring  in  his  nose,  but  she 
could  not  always  lead  him  by  it.  So,  without 
more  ado,  she  spun  the  tale,  laughing  at  in 
tervals.  The  story  evidently  impressed  the 
duke,  for  his  face  remained  sober  all  through 
the  recital. 

"  Did  he  say  that  you  were  a  fool  ?  " 

"Of  course  not!" 

"Shall  I  challenge  him?" 

"  Oh,  my  Russian  bear,  he  fences  like  a 
Chicot;  he  is  a  dead  shot;  and  is  afraid  of 
nothing  .  .  »  but  a  woman.  No,  no;  I 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  TIGRESS        51 

have  something  better.  It  will  be  like  one  of 
those  old  comedies.  I  hate  her ! "  with  a 
burst  of  fury.  "  She  always  does  everything 
just  so  much  better  than  I  do.  As  for  him,  he 
was  nothing.  It  was  she;  I  hurt  her,  wrung 
her  heart." 

"Why?"  mildly. 

"  Is  not  that  enough  ?  " 

"  I  am  slow ;  it  takes  a  long  time  for  any 
thing  to  get  into  my  head ;  but  when  it  arrives, 
it  takes  a  longer  time  to  get  it  out." 

"  Well,  go  on."     Her  calm  was  ominous. 

"  Love  or  vanity.  This  American  singer  got 
what  you  could  not  get.  You  have  had  your 
way  too  long.  Perhaps  you  did  not  love  him. 
I  do  not  believe  you  can  really  love  any  one 
but  Flora.  Doubtless  he  possessed  millions; 
but  on  the  other  hand,  I  am  a  grand  duke;  I 
offered  marriage,  openly  and  legally,  in  spite 
of  all  the  opposition  brought  to  bear." 

Flora  was  undeniably  clever.  She  did  the 
one  thing  that  could  successfully  cope  with 


52     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

this  perilous  condition  of  the  ducal  mind.  She 
laughed,  and  flung  her  arms  around  his  neck 
and  kissed  him. 

"  I  have  named  you  well.  You  are  a 
tigress.  But  this  comedy  of  which  you  speak : 
it  might  pass  in  Russia,  but  not  in  Paris." 

"  I  shall  not  be  in  the  least  concerned.  My 
part  was  suggestion." 

"  You  suggested  it  to  some  one  else?" 

"To  be  sure!" 

"  My  objections     .     .     ." 

"  I  will  have  my  way  in  this  affair.  Be 
sides,  it  is  too  late." 

Her  gesture  was  explicit.  He  sighed.  He 
knew  quite  well  that  she  was  capable  of  leav 
ing  the  apartment  that  night,  in  her  kimono. 

"  I'll  go  to  Capri,"  resignedly.  Dynamite 
bombs  were  not  the  worst  things  in  the  world. 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  now." 

The  duke  picked  up  a  fresh  cigarette. 
"  How  the  devil  must  have  laughed  when  the 
Lord  made  Eve !  " 


w 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  JOKE    OF    MONSIEUR 

ITH  the  same  inward  bitterness  that 


attends  the  mental  processes  of  a  per 
forming  tiger  on  being  sent  back  to  its  cage, 
Courtlandt  returned  to  his  taxicab.  He 
wanted  to  roar  and  lash  and  devour  something. 
Instead,  he  could  only  twist  the  ends  of  his 
mustache  savagely.  So  she  was  a  grand 
duchess,  or  at  least  the  morganatic  wife  of 
a  grand  duke!  It  did  not  seem  possible  that 
any  woman  could  be  so  full  of  malice.  He 
simply  could  not  understand.  It  was  essen 
tially  the  Italian  spirit ;  doubtless,  till  she  heard 
his  voice,  she  had  forgotten  all  about  the 
episode  that  had  foundered  his  ship  of  hap 
piness. 

Her  statement  as  to  the  primal  cause  was 
53 


54     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

purely  inventive.  There  was  not  a  grain  of 
truth  in  it.  He  could  not  possibly  have  been 
so  rude.  He  had  been  too  indifferent.  Too 
indifferent!  The  repetition  of  the  phrase 
made  him  sit  straighter.  Pshaw !  It  could 
not  be  that.  He  possessed  a  little  vanity;  if 
he  had  not,  his  history  would  not  have  been 
worth  a  scrawl.  But  he  denied  the  pos 
session  vehemently,  as  men  are  wont  to  do. 
Strange,  a  man  will  admit  smashing  those 
ten  articles  of  advisement  known  as  the 
decalogue  and  yet  deny  the  inherent  quality 
which  surrenders  the  admission  —  vanity. 
However  you  may  look  at  it,  man's  vanity  is 
a  complex  thing.  The  vanity  of  a  woman  has 
a  definite  and  commendable  purpose :  the  con 
quest  of  man,  his  purse,  and  half  of  his  time. 
Too  indifferent!  Was  it  possible  that  he 
had  roused  her  enmity  simply  because  he  had 
made  it  evident  that  her  charms  did  not  in 
terest  him?  Beyond  lifting  his  hat  to  her, 
perhaps  exchanging  a  comment  on  the  weather, 


THE  JOKE  OF  MONSIEUR         55 

his  courtesies  had  not  been  extended.  Court- 
landt  was  peculiar  in  some  respects.  A 
woman  attracted  him,  or  she  did  not.  In  the 
one  case  he  was  affable,  winning,  pleasant,  full 
of  those  agreeable  little  surprises  that  in 
turn  attract  a  woman.  In  the  other  case,  he 
passed  on,  for  his  impressions  were  instant 
and  did  not  require  the  usual  skirmishing. 

A  grand  duchess!  The  straw-colored  mus 
tache  now  described  two  aggressive  points. 
What  an  impossible  old  world  it  was!  The 
ambition  of  the  English  nobility  was  on  a 
far  lower  scale  than  that  of  their  continental 
cousins.  On  the  little  isle  they  were  satisfied 
to  marry  soubrettes  and  chorus  girls.  Here, 
the  lady  must  be  no  less  a  personage  than  a 
grand-opera  singer  or  a  primiere  danceuse. 
The  continental  noble  at  least  showed  some 
discernment;  he  did  not  choose  haphazard;  he 
desired  the  finished  product  and  was  not  to 
be  satisfied  with  the  material  in  the  raw. 

Oh,  stubborn  Dutchman  that  he  had  been! 


56     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

Blind  fool!  To  have  run  away  instead  of 
fighting  to  the  last  ditch  for  his  happiness! 
The  Desimone  woman  was  right :  it  had  taken 
him  a  long  time  to  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
she  had  done  him  an  ill  turn.  And  during  all 
these  weary  months  he  had  drawn  a  melan 
choly  picture  of  himself  as  a  wounded  lion, 
creeping  into  the  jungle  to  hide  its  hurts,  when, 
truth  be  known,  he  had  taken  the  ways  of  the 
jackass  for  a  model.  He  saw  plainly  enough 
now.  More  than  this,  where  there  had  been 
mere  obstacles  to  overcome  there  were  now 
steep  mountains,  perhaps  inaccessible  for  all 
he  knew.  His  jaw  set,  and  the  pressure  of 
his  lips  broke  the  sweep  of  his  mustache,  con 
verting  it  into  bristling  tufts,  warlike  and  reso 
lute. 

As  he  was  leaving,  a  square  of  light  at 
tracted  his  attention.  He  looked  up  to  see  the 
outline  of  the  bearded  Russ  in  the  window. 
Poor  devil!  He  was  going  to  have  a  merry 
time  of  it.  Well,  that  was  his  affair.  Be- 


THE  JOKE  OF  MONSIEUR        57 

sides,  Russians,  half  the  year  chilled  by  their 
bitter  snows,  were  susceptible  to  volcanoes; 
they  courted  them  as  a  counterbalance.  Per 
haps  he  had  spoken  roughly,  but  his  temper 
had  not  been  under  control.  One  thing  he 
recalled  with  grim  satisfaction.  He  had  sent 
a  barbed  arrow  up  the  tube  to  disturb  the 
felicity  of  the  dove-cote.  The  duke  would  be 
rather  curious  to  know  what  was  meant  in 
referring  to  the  night  she  had  come  to  his, 
Courtlandt's,  room.  He  laughed.  It  would 
be  a  fitting  climax  indeed  if  the  duke  called 
him  out. 

But  what  of  the  pretty  woman  in  the  Tav- 
erne  Royale?  What  about  her?  At  whose 
bidding  had  she  followed  him?  One  or 
the  other  of  them  had  not  told  the  truth,  and 
he  was  inclined  to  believe  that  the  prevarica 
tion  had  its  source  in  the  pomegranate  lips  of 
the  Calabrian.  To  give  the  old  barb  one  more 
twist,  to  learn  if  its  venomous  point  still  held 
and  hurt;  nothing  would  have  afforded  the 


58     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

diva  more  delight.     Courtlandt  glared  at  the 
window  as  the  shade  rolled  down. 

When  the  taxicab  joined  the  long  line  of 
carriages  and  automobiles  opposite  the  Aus 
trian  ambassador's,  Courtlandt  awoke  to  the 
dismal  and  disquieting  fact  that  he  had  formu 
lated  no  plan  of  action.  He  had  done  no  more 
than  to  give  the  driver  his  directions ;  and  now 
that  he  had  arrived,  he  had  the  choice  of  two 
alternatives.  He  could  wait  to  see  her  come 
out  or  return  at  once  to  his  hotel,  which,  as 
subsequent  events  affirmed,  would  have  been 
the  more  sensible  course.  He  would  have 
been  confronted  with  small  difficulty  in  gain 
ing  admission  to  the  house.  He  knew  enough 
of  these  general  receptions;  the  announcing  of 
his  name  would  have  conveyed  nothing  to  the 
host,  who  knew  perhaps  a  third  of  his  guests, 
and  many  of  these  but  slightly.  But  such  an 
adventure  was  distasteful  to  Courtlandt.  He 
could  not  overstep  certain  recognized  bound 
aries  of  convention,  and  to  enter  a  man's 


THE  JOKE  OF  MONSIEUR        59 

house  unasked  was  colossal  impudence.  Be 
yond  this,  he  realized  that  he  could  have  ac 
complished  nothing ;  the  advantage  would  have 
been  hers.  Nor  could  he  meet  her  as  she 
came  out,  for  again  the  odds  would  have  been 
largely  in  her  favor.  No,  the  encounter  must 
be  when  they  two  were  alone.  She  must  be 
surprised.  She  must  have  no  time  to  use  her 
ready  wit.  He  had  thought  to  wait  until 
some  reasonable  plan  offered  itself  for  trial; 
yet,  here  he  was,  with  nothing  definite  or  rec 
ognizable  but  the  fact  that  the  craving  to  see 
her  was  not  to  be  withstood.  The  blood  began 
to  thunder  in  his  ears.  An  idea  presented 
itself.  It  appealed  to  him  at  that  moment  as 
quite  clever  and  feasible. 

"  Wait !  "  he  called  to  the  driver. 

He  dived  among  the  carriages  and  cars,  and 
presently  he  found  what  he  sought, —  her 
limousine.  He  had  taken  the  number  into  his 
mind  too  keenly  to  be  mistaken.  He  saw  the 
end  of  his  difficulties;  and  he  went  about  the 


60     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

affair  with  his  usual  directness.  It  was  only 
at  rare  times  that  he  ran  his  head  into  a  cul- 
de-sac.  If  her  chauffeur  was  regularly  em 
ployed  in  her  service,  he  would  have  to  return 
to  the  hotel;  but  if  he  came  from  the  garage, 
there  was  hope.  Every  man  is  said  to  have 
his  price,  and  a  French  chauffeur  might  prove 
no  notable  exception  to  the  rule. 

"  Are  you  driver  for  Madame  da  Toscana?  " 
Courtlandt  asked  of  the  man  lounging  in  the 
forward  seat. 

The  chauffeur  looked  hard  at  his  questioner, 
and  on  finding  that  he  satisfied  the  require 
ments  of  a  gentleman,  grumbled  an  affirma 
tive.  The  limousine  was  well  known  in  Paris, 
and  he  was  growing  weary  of  these  endless  in 
quiries. 

"  Are  you  in  her  employ  directly,  or  do  you 
come  from  the  garage  ?  " 

"  I  am  from  the  garage,  but  I  drive 
mademoiselle's  car  most  of  the  time,  especially 


THE  JOKE  OF  MONSIEUR        61 

at  night.  It  is  not  madame  but  mademoiselle, 
Monsieur." 

"  My  mistake."  A  slight  pause.  It  was 
rather  a  difficult  moment  for  Courtlandt.  The 
chauffeur  waited  wonderingly.  "  Would  you 
like  to  make  five  hundred  francs  ?  " 

"  How,  Monsieur?  " 

Courtlandt  should  have  been  warned  by  the 
tone,  which  contained  no  unusual  interest  or 
eagerness. 

"  Permit  me  to  remain  in  mademoiselle's 
car  till  she  comes.  I  wish  to  ride  with  her  to 
her  apartment." 

The  chauffeur  laughed.  He  stretched  his 
legs.  "  Thanks,  Monsieur.  It  is  very  dull 
waiting.  Monsieur  knows  a  good  joke." 

And  to  Courtlandt's  dismay  he  realized  that 
his  proposal  had  truly  been  accepted  as  a  jest. 

"  I  am  not  joking.  I  am  in  earnest.  Five 
hundred  francs.  On  the  word  of  a  gentle 
man  I  mean  mademoiselle  no  harm.  I  am 


known  to  her.  All  she  has  to  do  is  to  appeal 
to  you,  and  you  can  stop  the  car  and  summon 
the  police." 

The  chauffeur  drew  in  his  legs  and  leaned 
toward  his  tempter.  "  Monsieur,  if  you  are 
not  jesting,  then  you  are  a  madman.  Who 
are  you?  What  do  I  know  about  you?  I 
never  saw  you  before,  and  for  two  seasons 
I  have  driven  mademoiselle  in  Paris.  She 
wears  beautiful  jewels  to-night.  How  do  I 
know  that  you  are  not  a  gentlemanly  thief? 
Ride  home  with  mademoiselle !  You  are  crazy. 
Make  yourself  scarce,  Monsieur;  in  one  min 
ute  I  shall  call  the  police." 

"Blockhead!" 

English  of  this  order  the  Frenchman  per 
fectly  understood.  "  La,  la!  "  he  cried,  rising 
to  execute  his  threat. 

Courtlandt  was  furious,  but  his  fury  was 
directed  at  himself  as  much  as  at  the  trust 
worthy  young  man  getting  down  from  the 
limousine.  His  eagerness  had  led  him  to  mis- 


THE  JOKE  OF  MONSIEUR        63 

take  stupidity  for  cleverness.  He  had  gone 
about  the  affair  with  all  the  clumsiness  of  a 
boy  who  was  making  his  first  appearance  at 
the  stage  entrance.  It  was  mightily  discon 
certing,  too,  to  have  found  an  honest  man 
when  he  was  in  desperate  need  of  a  dishonest 
one.  He  had  faced  with  fine  courage  all  sorts 
of  dangerous  wild  animals;  but  at  this  moment 
he  hadn't  the  courage  to  face  a  policeman  and 
endeavor  to  explain,  in  a  foreign  tongue,  a 
situation  at  once  so  delicate  and  so  singularly 
•open  to  misconstruction.  So,  for  the  second 
time  in  his  life  he  took  to  his  heels.  Of  the 
first  time,  more  anon.  He  scrambled  back  to 
his  own  car,  slammed  the  door,  and  told  the 
driver  to  drop  him  at  the  Grand.  His  un 
dignified  retreat  caused  his  face  to  burn;  but 
discretion  would  not  be  denied.  However,  he 
did  not  return  to  the  hotel. 

Mademoiselle  da  Toscana's  chauffeur 
scratched  his  chin  in  perplexity.  In  frighten 
ing  off  his  tempter  he  recognized  that  now  he 


64     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

would  never  be  able  to  find  out  who  he  was. 
He  should  have  played  with  him  until  made 
moiselle  came  out.  She  would  have  known 
instantly.  That  would  have  been  the  time  for 
the  police.  To  hide  in  the  car!  What  the 
devil!  Only  a  madman  would  have  offered 
such  a  proposition.  The  man  had  been  either 
an  American  or  an  Englishman,  for  all  his  ac 
curacy  in  the  tongue.  Bah !  Perhaps  he  had 
heard  her  sing  that  night,  and  had  come  away 
from  the  Opera,  moonstruck.  It  was  not  an 
isolated  case.  The  fools  were  always  pester 
ing  him,  but  no  one  had  ever  offered  so  un 
common  a  bribe :  five  hundred  francs.  Made 
moiselle  might  not  believe  that  part  of  the 
tale.  Mademoiselle  was  clever.  There  was  a 
standing  agreement  between  them  that  she 
would  always  give  him  half  of  whatever  was 
offered  him  in  the  way  of  bribes.  It  paid. 
It  was  easier  to  sell  his  loyalty  to  her  for  two 
hundred  and  fifty  francs  than  to  betray  her 
for  five  hundred.  She  had  yet  to  find  him 


THE  JOKE  OF  MONSIEUR        65 

untruthful,  and  to-night  he  would  be  as  frank 
as  he  had  always  been. 

But  who  was  this  fellow  in  the  Bavarian 
hat,  who  patrolled  the  sidewalk?  He  had 
been  watching  him  when  the  madman  ap 
proached.  For  an  hour  or  more  he  had 
walked  up  and  down,  never  going  twenty  feet 
beyond  the  limousine.  He  couldn't  see  the 
face.  The  long  dark  coat  had  a  military  cut 
about  the  hips  and  shoulders.  From  time  to 
time  he  saw  him  glance  up  at  the  lighted 
windows.  Eh,  well;  there  were  other  women 
in  the  world  besides  mademoiselle,  several 
others. 

He  had  to  wait  only  half  an  hour  for  her 
appearance.  He  opened  the  door  and  saw 
to  it  that  she  was  comfortably  seated;  then  he 
paused  by  the  window,  touching  his  cap. 

"  What  is  it,  Frangois  ?  " 

"  A  gentleman  offered  me  five  hundred 
francs,  Mademoiselle,  if  I  would  permit  him 
to  hide  in  the  car." 


66     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  Five  hundred  francs?  To  hide  in  the  car? 
Why  didn't  you  call  the  police  ?  " 

"  I  started  to,  Mademoiselle,  but  he  ran 
away." 

"Oh!  What  was  he  like?"  The  prima 
donna  dropped  the  bunch  of  roses  on  the  seat 
beside  her. 

"  Oh,  he  looked  well  enough.  He  had  the 
air  of  a  gentleman.  He  was  tall,  with  light 
hair  and  mustache.  But  as  I  had  never  seen 
him  before,  and  as  Mademoiselle  wore  some 
fine  jewels,  I  bade  him  be  off." 

"  Would  you  know  him  again  ?  " 

"  Surely,  Mademoiselle." 

"  The  next  time  any  one  bothers  you,  call 
the  police.  You  have  done  well,  and  I  shall 
remember  it.  Home." 

The  man  in  the  Bavarian  hat  hurried  back 
to  the  third  car  from  the  limousine,  and  fol 
lowed  at  a  reasonably  safe  distance. 

The  singer  leaned  back  against  the  cushions. 


THE  JOKE  OF  MONSIEUR        67 

She  was  very  tired.  The  opera  that  night  had 
taxed  her  strength,  and  but  for  her  promise 
she  would  not  have  sung  to  the  ambassador's 
guests  for  double  the  fee.  There  was  an 
electric  bulb  in  the  car.  She  rarely  turned  it 
on,  but  she  did  to-night.  She  gazed  into  the 
little  mirror;  and  utter  weariness  looked  back 
from  out  the  most  beautiful,  blue,  Irish  eyes 
in  the  world.  She  rubbed  her  fingers  care 
fully  up  and  down  the  faint  perpendicular 
wrinkle  above  her  nose.  It  was  always  there 
on  nights  like  this.  How  she  longed  for  the 
season  to  end!  She  would  fly  away  to  the 
lakes,  the  beautiful,  heavenly  tinted  lakes, 
the  bare  restful  mountains,  and  the  clover  lawns 
spreading  under  brave  old  trees;  she  would 
walk  along  the  vineyard  paths,  and  loiter  un 
der  the  fig-trees,  far,  far  away  from  the  world, 
its  clamor,  its  fickleness,  its  rasping  jealousies. 
Some  day  she  would  have  enough;  and  then, 
good-by  to  all  the  clatter,  the  evil-smelling 


68     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

stages,  the  impossible  people  with  whom  shr 
was  associated.  She  would  sing  only  to  thosr 
she  loved. 

The  glamour  of  the  life  had  long  ago 
passed;  she  sang  on  because  she  had  acquired 
costly  habits,  because  she  was  fond  of  beauti 
ful  things,  and  above  all,  because  she  loved  tc 
sing.  She  had  as  many  moods  as  a  bird,  as 
many  sides  as  nature.  A  flash  of  sunshine 
called  to  her  voice;  the  beads  of  water, 
trembling  upon  the  blades  of  grass  after  a 
summer  shower,  brought  a  song  to  her  lips. 
Hers  was  a  God-given  voice,  and  training  had 
added  to  it  nothing  but  confidence.  True,  she 
could  act;  she  had  been  told  by  many  a  great 
impressario  that  histrionically  she  had  no  peer 
in  grand  opera.  But  the  knowledge  gave  her 
no  thrill  of  delight.  To  her  it  was  the  sum 
of  a  tremendous  physical  struggle. 

She  shut  off  the  light  and  closed  her  eyes. 
She  reclined  against  the  cushion  once  more, 
striving  not  to  think.  Once,  her  hands  shut 


THE  JOKE  OF  MONSIEUR        69 

tightly.  Never,  never,  never!  She  pressed 
down  the  burning  thoughts  by  recalling  the 
bright  scenes  at  the  ambassador's,  the  real 
generous  applause  that  had  followed  her  two 
songs.  Ah,  how  that  man  Paderewski  played ! 
They  two  had  cost  the  ambassador  eight 
thousand  francs.  Fame  and  fortune!  For 
tune  she  could  understand;  but  fame!  What 
was  it?  Upon  a  time  she  believed  she  had 
known  what  fame  was;  but  that  had  been 
when  she  was  striving  for  it.  A  glowing  ar 
ticle  in  a  newspaper,  a  portrait  in  a  magazine, 
rows  upon  rows  of  curious  eyes  and  a  patter 
of  hands  upon  hands;  that  was  all;  and  for 
this  she  had  given  the  best  of  her  life,  and  she 
was  only  twenty-five. 

The  limousine  stopped  at  last.  The  man  in 
the  Bavarian  hat  saw  her  alight.  His  car 
turned  and  disappeared.  It  had  taken  him  a 
week  to  discover  where  she  lived.  His  lodg 
ings  were  on  the  other  side  of  the  Seine.  After 
reaching  them  he  gave  crisp  orders  to  the 


70     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

driver,  who  set  his  machine  off  at  top  speed. 
The  man  in  the  Bavarian  hat  entered  his  room 
and  lighted  the  gas.  The  room  was  bare  and 
cheaply  furnished.  He  took  off  his  coat  but 
retained  his  hat,  pulling  it  down  still  farther 
over  his  eyes.  His  face  was  always  in  shadow. 
A  round  chin,  two  full  red  lips,  scantily  covered 
by  a  blond  mustache  were  all  that  could  be 
seen.  He  began  to  walk  the  floor  impatiently, 
stopping  and  listening  whenever  he  heard  a 
sound.  He  waited  less  than  an  hour  for  the 
return  of  the  car.  It  brought  two  men. 
They  were  well-dressed,  smoothly-shaven,  with 
keen  eyes  and  intelligent  faces.  Their  host, 
who  had  never  seen  either  of  his  guests  be 
fore,  carelessly  waved  his  hand  toward  the 
table  where  there  were  two  chairs.  He  him 
self  took  his  stand  by  the  window  and  looked 
out  as  he  talked.  In  another  hour  the  room 
was  dark  and  the  street  deserted. 

In  the  meantime  the  prima  donna  gave  a 


THE  JOKE  OF  MONSIEUR        71 

sigh  of  relief.  She  was  home.  It  was  nearly 
two  o'clock.  She  would  sleep  till  noon,  and 
Saturday  and  Sunday  would  be  hers.  She 
went  up  the  stairs  instead  of  taking  the  lift, 
and  though  the  hall  was  dark,  she  knew 
her  way.  She  unlocked  the  door  of  the  apart 
ment  and  entered,  swinging  the  door  behind 
her.  As  the  act  was  mechanical,  her  thoughts 
being  otherwise  engaged,  she  did  not  notice 
that  the  lock  failed  to  click.  The  ferrule  of 
a  cane  had  prevented  that. 

She  flung  her  wraps  on  the  divan  and  put 
the  roses  in  an  empty  bowl.  The  door  opened 
softly,  without  noise.  Next,  she  stopped  be 
fore  the  mirror  over  the  mantel,  touched  her 
hair  lightly,  detached  the  tiara  of  emeralds 
.  .  .  and  became  as  inanimate  as  marble. 
She  saw  another  face.  She  never  knew  how 
long  the  interval  of  silence  was.  She  turned 
slowly. 

"  Yes,  it  is  I !  "  said  the  man. 


72     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

Instantly  she  turned  again  to  the  mantel  and 
picked  up  a  magazine-revolver.  She  leveled 
it  at  him. 

"  Leave  this  room,  or  I  will  shoot." 

Courtlandt  advanced  toward  her  slowly. 
"  Do  so,"  he  said.  "  I  should  much  prefer  a 
bullet  to  that  look." 

"  I  am  in  earnest."  She  was  very  white, 
but  her  hand  was  steady. 

He  continued  to  advance.  There  followed 
a  crash.  The  smell  of  burning  powder  filled 
the  room.  The  Burmese  gong  clanged  shrilly 
and  whirled  wildly.  Courtlandt  felt  his  hair 
stir  in  terror. 

"  You  must  hate  me  indeed,"  he  said  quietly, 
as  the  sense  of  terror  died  away.  He  folded 
his  arms.  "  Try  again;  there  ought  to  be  half 
a  dozen  bullets  left.  No?  Then,  good-by!" 
He  left  the  apartment  without  another  word 
or  look,  and  as  the  door  closed  behind  him 
there  was  a  kind  of  finality  in  the  clicking  of 
the  latch. 


THE  JOKE  OF  MONSIEUR        73 

The  revolver  clattered  to  the  floor,  and  the 
woman  who  had  fired  it  leaned  heavily  against 
the  mantel,  covering  her  eyes. 

"  Nora,  Nora !  "  cried  a  startled  voice  from 
a  bedroom  adjoining.  "  What  has  happened? 
Mon  Dieu,  what  is  it?"  A  pretty,  sleepy- 
eyed  young  woman,  in  a  night-dress,  rushed 
into  the  room.  She  flung  her  arms  about  the 
singer.  "  Nora,  my  dear,  my  dear !  " 

"  He  forced  his  way  in.  I  thought  to 
frighten  him.  It  went  off  accidentally.  Oh, 
Celeste,  Celeste,  I  might  have  killed  him !  " 

The  other  drew  her  head  down  on  her 
shoulder,  and  listened.  She  could  hear  voices 
in  the  lower  hall,  a  shout  of  warning,  a  patter 
of  steps;  then  the  hall  door  slammed.  After 
that,  silence,  save  for  the  faint  mellowing 
vibrations  of  the  Burmese  gong. 


CHAPTER  V 

CAPTIVE    OR    RUNAWAY 

AT  the  age  of  twenty-six  Donald  Abbott 
had  become  a  prosperous  and  dis 
tinguished  painter  in  water-colors.  His  work 
was  individual,  and  at  the  same  time  it  was 
delicate  and  charming.  One  saw  his  Italian 
landscapes  as  through  a  filmy  gauze:  the 
almond  blossoms  of  Sicily,  the  rose-laden 
walls  of  Florence,  the  vineyards  of  Chianti, 
the  poppy-glowing  Campagna  out  of  Rome. 
His  Italian  lakes  had  brought  him  fame.  He 
knew  very  little  of  the  grind  and  hunger  that 
attended  the  careers  of  his  whilom  associates. 
His  father  had  left  him  some  valuable  patents 
—  wash-tubs,  carpet-cleaners,  and  other  labor- 
saving  devices  —  and  the  royalties  from  these 
were  quite  sufficient  to  keep  him  pleasantly 
74 


CAPTIVE  OR  RUNAWAY          75 

housed.  When  he  referred  to  his  father  (of 
whom  he  had  been  very  fond)  it  was  as  an  in 
ventor.  Of  what,  he  rarely  told.  In  America 
it  was  all  right;  but  over  here,  where  these 
inventions  were  unknown,  a  wash-tub  had  a 
peculiar  significance:  that  a  man  should  be 
found  in  his  money  through  its  services  left 
persons  in  doubt  as  to  his  genealogical  tree, 
which,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  was  a  very  good 
one.  As  a  boy  his  schoolmates  had  dubbed 
him  "  The  Sweep  "  and  "  Suds  ",  and  it  was 
only  human  that  he  should  wish  to  forget. 

His  earnings  (not  inconsiderable,  for  tourists 
found  much  to  admire  in  both  the  pictures 
and  the  artist)  he  spent  in  gratifying  his  mild 
extravagances.  So  there  were  no  lines  in  his 
handsome,  boyish,  beardless  face;  and  his 
eyes  were  unusually  clear  and  happy.  Per 
haps  once  or  twice,  since  his  majority,  he  had 
returned  to  America  to  prove  that  he  was  not 
an  expatriate,  though  certainly  he  was  one, 
the  only  tie  existing  between  him  and  his 


76     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

native  land  being  the  bankers  who  regularly 
honored  his  drafts.  And  who  shall  condemn 
him  for  perferring  Italy  to  the  desolate  center 
of  New  York  state,  where  good  servants  and 
good  weather  are  as  rare  as  are  flawless  emer 
alds? 

Half  after  three,  on  Wednesday  afternoon, 
Abbott  stared  moodily  at  the  weather- 
tarnished  group  by  Dalou  in  the  Luxembourg 
gardens  —  the  Triumph  of  Silenus.  His  gaze 
was  deceptive,  for  the  rollicking  old  bibulous 
scoundrel  had  not  stirred  his  critical  sense 
nor  impressed  the  delicate  films  of  thought. 
He  was  looking  through  the  bronze,  into  the 
far-away  things.  He  sat  on  his  own  folding 
stool,  which  he  had  brought  along  from  his 
winter  studio  hard  by  in  the  old  Boul'  Miche'. 
He  had  arrived  early  that  morning,  all  the  way 
from  Como,  to  find  a  thunderbolt  driven  in 
at  his  feet.  Across  his  knees  fluttered  an 
open  newspaper,  the  Paris  edition  of  the  New 
York  Herald.  All  that  kept  it  from  blowing 


CAPTIVE  OR  RUNAWAY          77 

away  was  the  tense  if  sprawling  fingers  of  his 
right  hand ;  his  left  hung  limply  at  his  side. 

It  was  not  possible.  Such  things  did  not 
happen  these  unromantic  days  to  musical 
celebrities.  She  had  written  that  on  Monday 
night  she  would  sing  in  La  Boheme  and  on 
Wednesday,  Faust.  She  had  since  vanished, 
vanished  as  completely  as  though  she  had  taken 
wings  and  flown  away.  It  was  unreal.  She 
had  left  the  apartment  in  the  Avenue  de 
Wagram  on  Saturday  afternoon,  and  nothing 
had  been  seen  or  heard  of  her  since.  At  the 
last  moment  they  had  had  to  find  a  substitute 
for  her  part  in  the  Puccini  opera.  The  maid 
testified  that  her  mistress  had  gone  on  an 
errand  of  mercy.  She  had  not  mentioned 
where,  but  she  had  said  that  she  would  return 
in  time  to  dress  for  dinner,  which  proved  con 
clusively  that  something  out  of  the  ordinary 
had  befallen  her. 

The  automobile  that  had  carried  her  away 
had  not  been  her  own,  and  the  chauffeur  was 


78     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

unknown.  None  of  the  directors  at  the  Opera 
had  been  notified  of  any  change  in  the  sing 
er's  plans.  She  had  disappeared,  and  they 
were  deeply  concerned.  Singers  were  gen 
erally  erratic,  full  of  sudden  indispositions,  un 
accountable  whims ;  but  the  Signorina  da  Tos- 
cana  was  one  in  a  thousand.  She  never  broke 
an  engagement.  If  she  was  ill  she  said  so  at 
once;  she  never  left  them  in  doubt  until  the 
last  moment.  Indecision  was  not  one  of  her 
characteristics.  She  was  as  reliable  as  the 
sun.  If  the  directors  did  not  hear  definitely 
from  her  by  noon  to-day,  they  would  have  to 
find  another  Marguerite. 

The  police  began  to  move,  and  they  stirred 
up  some  curious  bits  of  information.  A  man 
had  tried  to  bribe  the  singer's  chauffeur,  while 
she  was  singing  at  the  Austrian  ambassador's. 
The  chauffeur  was  able  to  describe  the  stranger 
with  some  accuracy.  Then  came  the  bewilder 
ing  episode  in  the  apartment:  the  pistol-shot, 
the  flight  of  the  man,  the  astonished  concierge 


CAPTIVE  OR  RUNAWAY         79 

to  whom  the  beautiful  American  would  offer 
no  explanations.  The  man  (who  tallied  with 
the  description  given  by  the  chauffeur)  had 
obtained  entrance  under  false  representations. 
He  claimed  to  be  an  emissary  with  important 
instructions  from  the  Opera.  There  was 
nothing  unusual  in  this;  messengers  came  at 
all  hours,  and  seldom  the  same  one  twice;  so 
the  concierge's  suspicions  had  not  been 
aroused.  Another  item.  A  tall  handsome 
Italian  had  called  at  eleven  o'clock  Saturday 
morning,  but  the  signorina  had  sent  down 
word  that  she  could  not  see  him.  The  maid 
recalled  that  her  mistress  had  intended  to  dine 
that  night  with  the  Italian  gentleman.  His 
name  she  did  not  know,  having  been  with  the 
signorina  but  two  weeks. 

Celeste  Fournier,  the  celebrated  young  pian 
ist  and  composer,  who  shared  the  apartment 
with  the  missing  prima  donna,  stated  that  she 
hadn't  the  slightest  idea  where  her  friend  was. 
She  was  certain  that  misfortune  had  over- 


8o     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

taken  her  in  some  inexplicable  manner.  To 
implicate  the  Italian  was  out  of  the  question. 
He  was  well-known  to  them  both.  He  had 
arrived  again  at  seven,  Saturday,  and  was  very 
much  surprised  that  the  signorina  had  not  yet 
returned.  He  had  waited  till  nine,  when  he 
left,  greatly  disappointed.  He  was  the  Barone 
di  Monte- Verdi  in  Calabria,  formerly  military 
attache  at  the  Italian  embassy  in  Berlin.  Sun 
day  noon  Mademoiselle  Fournier  had  notified 
the  authorities.  She  did  not  know,  but  she 
felt  sure  that  the  blond  stranger  knew  more 
than  any  one  else.  And  here  was  the  end  of 
things.  The  police  found  themselves  at  a 
standstill.  They  searched  the  hotels  but  with 
out  success;  the  blond  stranger  could  not  be 
found. 

Abbott's  eyes  were  not  happy  and  pleasant 
just  now.  They  were  dull  and  blank  with  the 
reaction  of  the  stunning  blow.  He,  too,  was 
certain  of  the  Barone.  Much  as  he  secretly 
hated  the  Italian,  he  knew  him  to  be  a  fearless 


CAPTIVE  OR  RUNAWAY          81 

and  an  honorable  man.  But  who  could  this 
blond  stranger  be  who  appeared  so  sinisterly 
in  the  two  scenes  ?  From  where  had  he  come  ? 
Why  had  Nora  refused  to  explain  about  the 
pistol-shot?  Any  woman  had  a  perfect 
right  to  shoot  a  man  who  forced  his  way  into 
her  apartment.  Was  he  one  of  those  mad 
fools  who  had  fallen  in  love  with  her,  and  had 
become  desperate?  Or  was  it  some  one  she 
knew  and  against  whom  she  did  not  wish 
to  bring  any  charges?  Abducted!  And  she 
might  be,  at  this  very  moment,  suffering  all 
sorts  of  indignities.  It  was  horrible  to  be  so 
helpless. 

The  sparkle  of  the  sunlight  upon  the  ferrule 
of  a  cane,  extending  over  his  shoulder,  broke 
in  on  his  agonizing  thoughts.  He  turned, 
an  angry  word  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue.  He 
expected  to  see  some  tourist  who  wanted  to 
be  informed. 

"  Ted  Courtlandt !  "  He  jumped  up,  over 
turning  the  stool.  "  And  where  the  dickens 


82     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

did  you  come  from?  I  thought  you  were  in 
the  Orient?" 

"  Just  got  back,  Abby." 

The  two  shook  hands  and  eyed  each  other 
with  the  appraising  scrutiny  of  friends  of  long 
standing. 

"  You  don't  change  any,"  said  Abbott. 

"  Nor  do  you.  I've  been  standing  behind 
you  fully  two  minutes.  What  were  you 
glooming  about  ?  Old  Silenus  offend  you  ?  " 

"  Have  you  read  the  Herald  this  morning?  " 

"  I  never  read  it  nowadays.  They  are  al 
ways  giving  me  a  roast  of  some  kind.  What 
ever  I  do  they  are  bound  to  misconstrue  it." 
Courtlandt  stooped  and  righted  the  stool,  but 
sat  down  on  the  grass,  his  feet  in  the  path. 
"What's  the  trouble?  Have  they  been  after 
you?" 

Abbott  rescued  the  offending  paper  and 
shaking  it  under  his  friend's  nose,  said: 
"  Read  that." 

Courtlandt's  eyes  widened  considerably  as 


CAPTIVE  OR  RUNAWAY          83 

they  absorbed  the  significance  of  the  heading 
— "  Eleonora  da  Toscana  missing." 

"  Bah !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"You  say  bah?" 

"  It  looks  like  one  of  their  advertising 
dodges.  I  know  something  about  singers," 
Courtlandt  added.  "  I  engineered  a  musical 
comedy  once." 

"  You  do  not  know  anything  about  her," 
cried  Abbott  hotly. 

"  That's  true  enough."  Courtlandt  finished 
the  article,  folded  the  paper  and  returned  it, 
and  began  digging  in  the  path  with  his  cane. 

"  But  what  I  want  to  know  is,  who  the  devil 
is  this  mysterious  blond  stranger  ?  "  Abbott 
flourished  the  paper  again.  "  I  tell  you,  it's 
no  advertising  dodge.  She's  been  abducted. 
The  hound!" 

Courtlandt  ceased  boring  into  the  earth. 
"  The  story  says  that  she  refused  to  explain 
this  blond  chap's  presence  in  her  room.  What 
do  you  make  of  that  ?  " 


84     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  Perhaps  you  think  the  fellow  was  her 
press-agent  ?  "  was  the  retort. 

"  Lord,  no !  But  it  proves  that  she  knew 
him,  that  she  did  not  want  the  police  to  find 
him.  At  least,  not  at  that  moment.  Who's 
the  Italian  ?  "  suddenly. 

"  I  can  vouch  for  him.  He  is  a  gentleman, 
honorable  as  the  day  is  long,  even  if  he  is 
hot-headed  at  times.  Count  him  out  of  it. 
It's  this  unknown,  I  tell  you.  Revenge  for 
some  imagined  slight.  It's  as  plain  as  the  nose 
on  your  face." 

"  How  long  have  you  known  her  ?  "  asked 
Courtlandt  presently. 

"  About  two  years.  She's  the  gem  of  the 
whole  lot.  Gentle,  kindly,  untouched  by  flat 
tery.  .  .  .  Why,  you  must  have  seen  and 
heard  her!" 

"  I  have."  Courtlandt  stared  into  the  hole 
he  had  dug.  "  Voice  like  an  angel's,  with  a 
face  like  Bellini's  donna;  and  Irish  all  over. 


CAPTIVE  OR  RUNAWAY         85 

But  for  all  that,  you  will  find  that  her  disap 
pearance  will  turn  out  to  be  a  diva's  whim. 
Hang  it,  Suds,  I've  had  some  experience  with 
singers." 

"  You  are  a  blockhead ! "  exploded  the 
younger  man. 

"  All  right,  I  am."     Courtlandt  laughed. 

"  Man,  she  wrote  me  that  she  would  sing 
Monday  and  to-night,  and  wanted  me  to  hear 
her.  I  couldn't  get  here  in  time  for  La 
Boheme,  but  I  was  building  on  Faust.  And 
when  she  says  a  thing,  she  means  it.  As  you 
said,  she's  Irish." 

"  And  I'm  Dutch." 

"  And  the  stubbornest  Dutchman  I  ever  met. 
Why  don't  you  go  home  and  settle  down  and 
marry?  —  and  keep  that  phiz  of  yours  out  of 
the  newspapers?  Sometimes  I  think  you're  as 
crazy  as  a  bug." 

"  An  opinion  shared  by  many.  Maybe  I 
am.  I  dash  in  where  lunatics  fear  to  tread. 


86     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

Come  on  over  to  the  Soufflet  and  have  a  drink 
with  me." 

"  I'm  not  drinking  to-day,"  tersely. 
"  There's  too  much  ahead  for  me  to  do." 

"  Going  to  start  out  to  find  her?  Oh,  Sir 
Galahad !  "  ironically.  "  Abby,  you  used  to 
be  a  sport.  I'll  wager  a  hundred  against  a 
bottle  of  pop  that  to-morrow  or  next  day  she'll 
turn  up  serenely,  with  the  statement  that  she 
was  indisposed,  sorry  not  to  have  notified  the 
directors,  and  all  that.  They  do  it  repeatedly 
every  season." 

"  But  an  errand  of  mercy,  the  strange  auto 
mobile  which  can  not  be  found  ?  The  engage 
ment  to  dine  with  the  Barone?  Celeste 
Fournier's  statement?  You  can't  get  around 
these  things.  I  tell  you,  Nora  isn't  that  kind. 
She's  too  big  in  heart  and  mind  to  stoop  to  any 
such  devices,"  vehemently. 

"  Nora !  That  looks  pretty  serious,  Abby. 
You  haven't  gone  and  made  a  fool  of  yourself, 
have  you  ?  " 


CAPTIVE  OR  RUNAWAY          87 

"  What  do  you  call  making  a  fool  of  my 
self?  "  truculently. 

"  You  aren't  a  suitor,  are  you  ?  An  ac 
cepted  suitor?"  unruffled,  rather  kindly. 

"  No,  but  I  would  to  heaven  that  I  were!  " 
Abbott  jammed  the  newspaper  into  his  pocket 
and  slung  the  stool  over  his  arm.  "  Come  on 
over  to  the  studio  until  I  get  some  money." 

"  You  are  really  going  to  start  a  search  ?  " 

"  I  really  am.  I'd  start  one  just  as  quickly 
for  you,  if  I  heard  that  you  had  vanished  un 
der  mysterious  circumstances." 

"  I  believe  you  honestly  would." 

"  You  are  an  old  misanthrope.  I  hope  some 
woman  puts  the  hook  into  you  some  day. 
Where  did  you  pick  up  the  grouch?  Some  of 
your  dusky  princesses  give  you  the  go-by?  " 

"You,  too,  Abby?" 

"Oh,  rot!  Of  course  I  never  believed  any 
of  that  twaddle.  Only,  I've  got  a  sore  head 
to-day.  If  you  knew  Nora  as  well  as  I  do, 
you'd  understand." 


88     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

Courtlandt  walked  on  a  little  ahead  of  the 
artist,  who  looked  up  and  down  the  athletic 
form,  admiringly.  Sometimes  he  loved  the 
man,  sometimes  he  hated  him.  He  marched 
through  tragedy  and  comedy  and  thrilling  ad 
venture  with  no  more  concern  that  he  evinced 
in  striding  through  these  gardens.  Nearly 
every  one  had  heard  of  his  exploits;  but  who 
among  them  knew  anything  of  the  real  man, 
so  adroitly  hidden  under  unruffled  externals? 
That  there  was  a  man  he  did  not  know,  hiding 
deep  down  within  those  powerful  shoulders, 
he  had  not  the  least  doubt.  He  himself  pos 
sessed  the  quick  mobile  temperament  of  the 
artist,  and  he  could  penetrate  but  not  under 
stand  the  poise  assumed  with  such  careless  ease 
by  his  friend.  Dutch  blood  had  something  to 
do  with  it,  and  there  was  breeding,  but  there 
was  something  more  than  these:  he  was  a 
reversion,  perhaps,  to  the  type  of  man  which 
had  made  the  rovers  of  the  Lowlands  feared 
on  land  and  sea,  now  hemmed  in  by  conven- 


CAPTIVE  OR  RUNAWAY         89 

tion,  hampered  by  the  barriers  of  progress,  and 
striving  futilely  to  find  an  outlet  for  his  pe 
culiar  energies.  One  bit  of  knowledge  grati 
fied  him;  he  stood  nearer  to  Courtlandt  than 
any  other  man.  He  had  known  the  adven 
turer  as  a  boy,  and  long  separations  had  in  no 
wise  impaired  the  foundations  of  this  friend 
ship. 

Courtlandt  continued  toward  the  exit,  his 
head  forward,  his  gaze  bent  on  the  path. 
He  had  the  air  of  a  man  deep  in  thought, 
philosophic  thought,  which  leaves  the  brows 
unmarred  by  those  corrugations  known  as 
frowns.  Yet  his  thoughts  were  far  from 
philosophic.  Indeed,  his  soul  was  in  mad  tur 
moil.  He  could  have  thrown  his  arms  toward 
the  blue  sky  and  cursed  aloud  the  fates  that 
had  set  this  new  tangle  at  his  feet.  He  longed 
for  the  jungles  and  some  mad  beast  to  vent 
his  wrath  upon.  But  he  gave  no  sign.  He 
had  returned  with  a  purpose  as  hard  and  grim 
as  iron;  and  no  obstacle,  less  powerful  than 


90     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

death,  should  divert  or  control  him.  Abduc 
tion?  Let  the  public  believe  what  it  might; 
he  held  the  key  to  the  mystery.  She  was 
afraid,  and  had  taken  flight.  So  be  it. 

"  I  say,  Ted,"  called  out  the  artist,  "  what 
did  you  mean  by  saying  that  you  were  a  Dutch 
man?" 

Courtlandt  paused  so  that  Abbott  might 
catch  up  to  him.  "  I  said  that  I  was  a  Dutch 
man?" 

"  Yes.  And  it  has  just  occurred  to  me  that 
you  meant  something." 

"Oh,  yes.  You  were  talking  of  Da  Tos- 
cana?  Let's  call  her  Harrigan.  It  will  save 
time,  and  no  one  will  know  to  whom  we  refer. 
You  said  she  was  Irish,  and  that  when  she 
said  a  thing  she  meant  it.  My  boy,  the  Irish 
are  notorious  for  claiming  that.  They  often 
say  it  before  they  see  clearly.  Now,  we 
Dutchmen, —  it  takes  a  long  time  for  us  to 
make  up  our  minds,  but  when  we  do,  some 
thing  has  got  to  bend  or  break." 


"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  are  going 
to  settle  down  and  get  married  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  going  to  settle  down  and  get  mar 
ried,  if  that  will  ease  your  mind  any." 

"  Man,  I  was  hoping !  " 

"  Three  meals  a  day  in  the  same  house,  with 
the  same  woman,  never  appealed  to  me." 

"  What  do  you  want,  one  for  each  meal  ?  " 

"  There's  the  dusky  princess  peeking  out 
again.  The  truth  is,  Abby,  if  I  could  hide 
myself  for  three  or  four  years,  long  enough 
•for  people  to  forget  me,  I  might  reconsider. 
But  it  should  be  under  another  name.  They 
envy  us  millionaires.  Why,  we  are  the  lone- 
somest  duffers  going.  We  distrust  every  one; 
we  fly  when  a  woman  approaches;  we  become 
monomaniacs;  one  thing  obsesses  us,  every 
body  is  after  our  money.  We  want  friends, 
we  want  wives,  but  we  want  them  to  be  at 
tracted  to  us  and  not  to  our  money-bags.  Oh, 
pshaw  !  What  plans  have  you  made  in  regard 
to  the  search?  " 


92     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

Gloom  settled  upon  the  artist's  face.  "  I've 
got  to  find  out  what's  happened  to  her,,  Ted. 
This  isn't  any  play.  Why,  she  loves  the  part 
of  Marguerite  as  she  loves  nothing  else. 
She's  been  kidnaped,  and  only  God  knows 
for  what  reason.  It  has  knocked  me  silly.  I 
just  came  up  from  Como,  where  she  spends 
the  summers  now.  I  was  going  to  take  her 
and  Fournier  out  to  dinner." 

"Who's  Fournier?" 

"  Mademoiselle  Fournier,  the  composer. 
She  goes  with  Nora  on  the  yearly  concert 
tours." 

"Pretty?" 

"  Charming." 

"  I  see,"  thoughtfully.  "  What  part  of  the 
lake;  the  Villa  d'Este,  Cadenabbia?" 

"  Bellaggio.  Oh,  it  was  ripping  last  sum 
mer.  She's  always  singing  when  she's  happy. 
When  she  sings  out  on  the  terrace,  suddenly, 
without  giving  any  one  warning,  her  voice  is 


CAPTIVE  OR  RUNAWAY         93 

wonderful.  No  audience  ever  heard  anything 
like  it." 

"  I  heard  her  Friday  night.  I  dropped  in 
at  the  Opera  without  knowing  what  they  were 
singing.  I  admit  all  you  say  in  regard  to  her 
voice  and  looks;  but  I  stick  to  the  whim." 

"  But  you  can't  fake  that  chap  with  the 
blond  mustache,"  retorted  Abbott  grimly. 
"  Lord,  I  wish  I  had  run  into  you  any  day 
but  to-day.  I'm  all  in.  I  can  telephone  to 
the  Opera  from  the  studio,  and  then  we  shall 
know  for  a  certainty  whether  or  not  she  will 
return  for  the  performance  to-night.  If  not, 
then  I'm  going  in  for  a  little  detective  work." 

"  Abby,  it  will  turn  out  to  be  the  sheep  of 
Little  Bo-Peep." 

"  Have  your  own  way  about  it." 

When  they  arrived  at  the  studio  Abbott  tele 
phoned  promptly.  Nothing  had  been  heard. 
They  were  substituting  another  singer. 

"  Call  up  the  Herald"  suggested  Courtlandt. 


94     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

Abbott  did  so.  And  he  had  to  answer  in 
numerable  questions,  questions  which  worked 
him  into  d  fine  rage:  who  was  he,  where  did 
he  live,  what  did  he  know,  how  long  had  he 
been  in  Paris,  and  could  he  prove  that  he  had 
arrived  that  morning?  Abbott  wanted  to 
fling  the  receiver  into  the  mouth  of  the  trans 
mitter,  but  his  patience  was  presently  re 
warded.  The  singer  had  not  yet  been  found, 
but  the  chauffeur  of  the  mysterious  car  had 
turned  up  ...  in  a  hospital,  and  perhaps 
by  night  they  would  know  everything.  The 
chauffeur  had  had  a  bad  accident;  the  car 
itself  was  a  total  wreck,  in  a  ditch,  not  far 
from  Versailles. 

"  There ! "  cried  Abbott,  slamming  the  re 
ceiver  on  the  hook.  "  What  do  you  say  to 
that?" 

"  The  chauffeur  may  have  left  her  some 
where,  got  drunk  afterward,  and  plunged  into 
the  ditch.  Things  have  happened  like  that. 
Abby,  don't  make  a  camel's-hair  shirt  out  of 


CAPTIVE  OR  RUNAWAY          95 

your  paint-brushes.  What  a  pother  about  a 
singer!  If  it  had  been  a  great  inventor,  a 
poet,  an  artist,  there  would  have  been  nothing 
more  than  a  two-line  paragraph.  But  an 
opera-singer,  one  who  entertains  us  during  our 
idle  evenings  —  ha !  that's  a  different  matter. 
Set  instantly  that  great  municipal  machinery 
called  the  police  in  action;  sell  extra  editions 
on  the  streets.  What  ado !  " 

"  What  the  devil  makes  you  so  bitter?  " 

"  Was  I  bitter  ?  I  thought  I  was  philoso 
phizing."  Courtlandt  consulted  his  watch. 
Half  after  four.  "  Come  over  to  the  Maurice 
and  dine  with  me  to-morrow  night,  that  is,  if 
you  do  not  find  your  prima  donna.  I've  an 
engagement  at  five-thirty,  and  must  be  off." 

"  I  was  about  to  ask  you  to  dine  with  me 
to-night,"  disappointedly. 

"Can't;  awfully  sorry,  Abby.  It  was  only 
luck  that  I  met  you  in  the  Luxembourg.  Be 
over  about  seven.  I  was  very  glad  to  see  you 
again." 


96     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

Abbott  kicked  a  broken  easel  into  a  corner. 
"  All  right.  If  anything  turns  up  I'll  let  you 
know.  You're  at  the  Grand  ?  " 

"  Yes.     By-by." 

"  I  know  what's  the  matter  with  him," 
mused  the  artist,  alone.  "  Some  woman  has 
chucked  him.  Silly  little  fool,  probably." 

Courtlandt  went  down-stairs  and  out  into 
the  boulevard.  Frankly,  he  was  beginning  to 
feel  concerned.  He  still  held  to  his  original 
opinion  that  the  diva  had  disappeared  of  her 
own  free  will;  but  if  the  machinery  of  the 
police  had  been  started,  he  realized  that  his 
own  safety  would  eventually  become  involved. 
By  this  time,  he  reasoned,  there  would  not  be 
a  hotel  in  Paris  free  of  surveillance.  Natu 
rally,  blond  strangers  would  be  in  demand. 
The  complications  that  would  follow  his  own 
arrest  were  not  to  be  ignored.  He  agreed 
with  his  conscience  that  he  had  not  acted  with 
dignity  in  forcing  his  way  into  her  apartment. 
But  that  night  he  had  been  at  odds  with  con- 


CAPTIVE  OR  RUNAWAY          97 

vention ;  his  spirit  had  been  that  of  the  maraud 
ing  old  Dutchman  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
He  perfectly  well  knew  that  she  was  in  the 
right  as  far  as  the  pistol-shot  was  concerned. 
Further,  he  knew  that  he  could  quash  any 
charge  she  might  make  in  that  direction  by  the 
simplest  of  declarations;  and  to  avoid  this 
simplest  of  declarations  she  would  prefer  si 
lence  above  all  things.  They  knew  each  other 
tolerably  well. 

It  was  extremely  fortunate  that  he  had  not 
been  to  the  hotel  since  Saturday.  He  went  di 
rectly  to  the  war-office.  The  great  and  power 
ful  man  there  was  the  only  hope  left.  They 
had  met  some  years  before  in  Algiers,  where 
Courtlandt  had  rendered  him  a  very  real 
service. 

"  I  did  not  expect  you  to  the  minute,"  the 
great  man  said  pleasantly.  "  You  will  not 
mind  waiting  for  a  few  minutes." 

"  Not  in  the  least.  Only,  I'm  in  a  deuce  of 
a  mess,"  frankly  and  directly.  "  Innocently 


98     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

enough,  I've  stuck  my  head  into  the  police 
net." 

"  Is  it  possible  that  now  I  can  pay  my  debt 
to  you?" 

"  Such  as  it  is.  Have  you  read  the  article 
in  the  newspapers  regarding  the  disappearance 
of  Signorina  da  Toscana,  the  singer?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  am  the  unknown  blond.  To-morrow 
morning  I  want  you  to  go  with  me  to  the 
prefecture  and  state  that  I  was  with  you  all  of 
Saturday  and  Sunday;  that  on  Monday  you 
and  your  wife  dined  with  me,  that  yesterday 
we  went  to  the  aviation  meet,  and  later  to  the 
Odeon." 

"  In  brief,  an  alibi?  "  smiling  now. 

"  Exactly.     I  shall  need  one." 

"  And  a  perfectly  good  alibi.  But  I  have 
your  word  that  you  are  in  nowise  concerned? 
Pardon  the  question,  but  between  us  it  is 
really  necessary  if  I  am  to  be  of  service  to 
you." 


99 

"  On  my  word  as  a  gentleman." 

"  That  is  sufficient." 

"  In  fact,  I  do  not  believe  that  she  has  been 
abducted  at  all.  Will  you  let  me  use  your  pad 
and  pen  for  a  minute  ?  " 

The  other  pushed  over  the  required  articles. 
Courtlandt  scrawled  a  few  words  and  passed 
back  the  pad. 

"  For  me  to  read  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  moodily. 

The  Frenchman  read.  Courtlandt  watched 
.him  anxiously.  There  was  not  even  a  flicker 
of  surprise  in  the  official  eye.  Calmly  he 
ripped  off  the  sheet  and  tore  it  into  bits,  dis 
tributing  the  pieces  into  the  various  waste- 
baskets  yawning  about  his  long  flat  desk. 
Next,  still  avoiding  the  younger  man's  eye,  he 
arranged  his  papers  neatly  and  locked  them 
up  in  a  huge  safe  which  only  the  artillery  of 
the  German  army  could  have  forced.  He  then 
called  for  his  hat  and  stick.  He  beckoned  to 
Courtlandt  to  follow.  Not  a  word  was  said 


ioo     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

until  the  car  was  humming  on  the  road  to 
Vincennes. 

"Well?"  said  Courtlandt,  finally.  It  was 
not  possible  for  him  to  hold  back  the  question 
any  longer. 

"  My  dear  friend,  I  am  taking  you  out  to 
the  villa  for  the  night." 

"  But  I  have  nothing    .     .     ." 

"And  I  have  everything,  even  foresight. 
If  you  were  arrested  to-night  it  would  cause 
you  some  inconvenience.  I  am  fifty-six,  some 
twenty  years  your  senior.  Under  this  hat  of 
mine  I  carry  a  thousand  secrets,  and  every  one 
of  these  thousand  must  go  to  the  grave  with 
me,  yours  along  with  them.  I  have  met  you 
a  dozen  times  since  those  Algerian  days,  and 
never  have  you  failed  to  afford  me  some 
amusement  or  excitement.  You  are  the  most 
interesting  and  entertaining  young  man  I 
know.  Try  one  of  these  cigars." 

Precisely   at   the   time   Courtlandt   stepped 


CAPTIVE  OR  RUNAWAY        101 

into  the  automobile  outside  the  war-office,  a 
scene,  peculiar  in  character,  but  inconspicuous 
in  that  it  did  not  attract  attention,  was  enacted 
in  the  Gare  de  1'Est.  Two  sober-visaged  men 
stood  respectfully  aside  to  permit  a  tall  young 
man  in  a  Bavarian  hat  to  enter  a  compartment 
of  the  second-class.  What  could  be  seen  of 
the  young  man's  face  was  full  of  smothered 
wrath  and  disappointment.  How  he  hated 
himself,  for  his  weakness,  for  his  cowardice! 
He  was  not  all  bad.  Knowing  that  he  was 
being  watched  and  followed,  he  could  not  go 
to  Versailles  and  compromise  her,  uselessly. 
And  devil  take  the  sleek  demon  of  a  woman 
who  had  prompted  him  to  commit  so  base  an 
act! 

"  You  will  at  least,"  he  said,  "  deliver  that 
message  which  I  have  intrusted  to  your  care." 

"  It  shall  reach  Versailles  to-night,  your 
Highness." 

The  young  man  reread  the  telegram  which 
one  of  the  two  men  had  given  him  a  moment 


102     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

since.  It  was  a  command  which  even  he,  wil 
ful  and  disobedient  as  he  was,  dared  not 
ignore.  He  ripped  it  into  shreds  and  flung 
them  out  of  the  window.  He  did  not  apolo 
gize  to  the  man  into  whose  face  the  pieces 
flew.  That  gentleman  reddened  perceptibly, 
but  he  held  his  tongue.  The  blare  of  a  horn 
announced  the  time  of  departure.  The  train 
moved.  The  two  men  on  the  platform  sa 
luted,  but  the  young  man  ignored  the  saluta 
tion.  Not  until  the  rear  car  disappeared  in 
the  hazy  distance  did  the  watchers  stir.  Then 
they  left  the  station  and  got  into  the  tonneau 
of  a  touring-car,  which  shot  away  and  did  not 
stop  until  it  drew  up  before  that  imposing  em 
bassy  upon  which  the  French  will  always  look 
with  more  or  less  suspicion. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE    BIRD    BEHIND    BARS 

THE  most  beautiful  blue  Irish  eyes  in  the 
world  gazed  out  at  the  dawn  which 
turned  night-blue  into  day-blue  and  paled  the 
stars.  Rosal  lay  the  undulating  horizon,  pres 
ently  to  burst  into  living  flame,  transmuting 
.the  dull  steel  bars  of  the  window  into  fairy 
gold,  that  trick  of  alchemy  so  futilely  sought 
by  man.  There  was  a  window  at  the  north 
and  another  at  the  south,  likewise  barred;  but 
the  Irish  eyes  never  sought  these  two.  It  was 
from  the  east  window  only  that  they  could  see 
the  long  white  road  that  led  to  Paris. 

The  nightingale  was  truly  caged.     But  the 
wild  heart  of  the  eagle  beat  in  this  nightin 
gale's  breast,  and  the  eyes  burned  as  fiercely 
toward  the  east  as  the  east  burned  toward  the 
103 


104     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

west.  Sunday  and  Monday,  Tuesday  and 
Wednesday  and  Thursday,  to-day;  and  that 
the  five  dawns  were  singular  in  beauty  and 
that  she  had  never  in  her  life  before  witnessed 
the  creation  of  five  days,  one  after  another, 
made  no  impression  upon  her  sense  of  the 
beautiful,  so  delicate  and  receptive  in  ordinary 
times.  She  was  conscious  that  within  her  the 
cup  of  wrath  was  overflowing.  Of  other 
things,  such  as  eating  and  sleeping  and  mov 
ing  about  in  her  cage  (more  like  an  eagle  in 
deed  than  a  nightingale),  recurrence  had 
blunted  her  perception. 

Her  clothes  were  soiled  and  crumpled, 
sundrily  torn;  her  hair  was  in  disorder,  and 
tendrils  hung  about  her  temples  and  forehead 
—  thick  black  hair,  full  of  purple  tones  in  the 
sunlight  —  for  she  had  not  surrendered  peace 
fully  to  this  incarceration.  Dignity,  that 
phase  of  philosophy  which  accepts  quietly  the 
inevitable,  she  had  thrown  to  the  winds.  She 
had  fought  desperately,  primordially,  when 


THE  BIRD  BEHIND  BARS        105 

she  had  learned  that  her  errand  of  mercy  was 
nothing  more  than  a  cruel  hoax. 

"  Oh,  but  he  shall  pay,  he  sh'all  pay ! "  she 
murmured,  striving  to  loosen  the  bars  with 
her  small,  white,  Helpless  hands.  The  cry 
seemed  to  be  an  arietta,  for  through  all  these 
four  maddening  days  she  had  voiced  it, —  now 
low  and  deadly  with  hate,  now  full-toned  in 
burning  anger,  now  broken  by  sobs  of  despair. 
"  Will  you  never  come,  so  that  I  may  tell  you 
how  base  and  vile  you  are  ?  "  she  further  ad- 
.  dressed  the  east. 

She  had  waited  for  his  appearance  on  Sun 
day.  Late  in  the  day  one  of  the  jailers  had 
informed  her  that  it  was  impossible  for  the 
gentleman  to  come  before  Monday.  So  she 
marshaled  her  army  of  phrases,  of  accusa 
tions,  of  denunciations,  ready  to  smother  him" 
with  them  the  moment  he  came.  But  he  came 
not  Monday,  nor  Tuesday,  nor  Wednesday. 
The  suspense  was  to  her  mind  diabolical. 
She  began  to  understand:  he  intended  to  keep 


106     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 


her  there  till  he  was  sure  that  her  spirit 
broken,  then  he  would  come.  Break  her 
spirit?  She  laughed  wildly.  He  could  break 
her  spirit  no  more  easily  than  she  could  break 
these  bars.  To  bring  her  to  Versailles  upon 
an  errand  of  mercy!  Well,  he  was  capable  of 
anything. 

The  room  was  large  and  fairly  comfortable, 
but  contained  nothing  breakable,  having  been 
tenanted  at  one  time  by  a  strenuous  lunatic, 
who  had  considerately  died  after  his  imme 
diate  family  and  relations  had  worn  them 
selves  into  their  several  graves,  taking  care  of 
him.  But  Eleonora  Harrigan  knew  nothing 
of  the  history  of  the  room  while  she  occupied 
it.  So,  no  ghost  disturbed  her  restlesss  slum- 
berless  nights,  consumed  in  watching  and 
listening. 

She  was  not  particularly  "distressed  because 
she  knew  that  it  would  not  be  possible  for 
her  to  sing  again  until  the  following  winter  in 
New  York.  She  had  sobbed  too  much,  with 


THE  BIRD  BEHIND  BARS        107 

her  face  buried  in  the  pillow.  Had  these  sobs 
been  born  of  weakness,  all  might  have  been 
well;  but  rage  had  mothered  them,  and  thus 
her  voice  was  in  a  very  bad  way.  This  morn 
ing  she  was  noticeably  hoarse,  and  there  was 
a  break  in  the  arietta.  No,  she  did  not  fret 
over  this  side  of  the  calamity.  The  sting  of  it 
all  lay  in  the  fact  that  she  had  been  outraged 
in  the  matter  of  personal  liberty,  with  no  act 
of  reprisal  to  ease  her  immediate  longing  to  be 
avenged. 

Nora,  as  she  stood  in  the  full  morning  sun 
light,  was  like  to  gladden  the  eyes  of  all  man 
kind.  She  was  beautiful,  and  all  adjectives 
applicable  would  but  serve  to  confuse  rather 
than  to  embellish  her  physical  excellence.  She 
was  as  beautiful  as  a  garden  rose  is,  needing 
no  defense,  no  ramparts  of  cloying  phrases. 
The  day  of  poets  is  gone,  otherwise  she  would 
have  been  sung  in  cantos.  She  was  tall, 
shapely,  deep-bosomed,  fine-skinned.  Critics, 
in  praising  her  charms,  delved  into  mythology 


and  folk-lore  for  comparisons,  until  there 
wasn't  a  goddess  left  on  Olympus  or  on 
Northland's  icy  capes;  and  when  these  images 
became  a  little  shop-worn,  referred  to  certain 
masterpieces  of  the  old  fellows  who  had  left 
nothing  more  to  be  said  in  oils.  Nora  en 
joyed  it  all. 

She  had  not  been  happy  in  the  selection  of 
her  stage  name;  but  she  had  chosen  Eleonora 
da  Toscana  because  she  believed  there  was 
good  luck  in  it.  Once,  long  before  the  world 
knew  of  her,  she  had  returned  home  from  Italy 
unexpectedly.  "  Molly,  here's  Nora,  from 
Tuscany !  "  her  delighted  father  had  cried :  who 
at  that  time  had  a  nebulous  idea  that  Tuscany 
was  somewhere  in  Ireland  because  it  had  a  Cel 
tic  ring  to  it.  Being  filled  with  love  of  Italy, 
its  tongue,  its  history,  its  physical  beauty,  she 
naively  translated  "  Nora  from  Tuscany  "  into 
Italian,  and  declared  that  when  she  went  upon 
the  stage  she  would  be  known  by  that  name. 
There  had  been  some  smiling  over  the  pseudo- 


THE  BIRD  BEHIND  BARS        109 

nym ;  but  Nora  was  Irish  enough  to  cling  to  it. 
By  and  by  the  great  music-loving  public  ceased 
to  concern  itself  about  her  name;  it  was  her 
fresh  beauty  and  her  wonderful  voice  they 
craved  to  see  and  hear.  Kings  and  queens,  em 
perors  and  empresses,  princes  and  princesses, — 
what  is  called  royalty  and  nobility  in  the  news 
papers  freely  gave  her  homage.  Quite  a  rise 
in  the  world  for  a  little  girl  who  had  once  lived 
in  a  shabby  apartment  in  New  York  and  run 
barefooted  on  the  wet  asphalts,  summer  nights! 
But  Nora  was  not  recalling  the  happy  scenes 
of  her  childhood;  indeed,  no;  she  was  still 
threatening  Paris.  Once  there,  she  would  not 
lack  for  reprisals.  To  have  played  on  her 
pity !  To  have  made  a  lure  of  her  tender  con 
cern  for  the  unfortunate!  Never  would  she 
forgive  such  baseness.  And  only  a  little  while 
ago  she  had  been  as  happy  as  the  nightingale 
to  which  they  compared  her.  Never  had  she 
wronged  any  one;  she  had  been  kindnesss  and 
thought  fulness  to  all  with  whom  she  had  come 


no      THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

in  contact.  But  from  now  on!  .  .  .  Her 
fingers  tightened  round  the  bars.  She  might 
have  posed  as  Dido  when  she  learned  that  the 
noble  y£neas  was  dead.  War,  war;  woe  to 
the  moths  who  fluttered  about  her  head  here 
after  ! 

Ah,  but  had  she  been  happy?  Her  hands 
slid  down  the  bars.  Her  expression  changed. 
The  mouth  drooped,  the  eagle-light  in  her  eyes 
dimmed.  From  out  the  bright  morning, 
somewhere,  had  come  weariness,  and  with  this 
came  weakness,  and  finally,  tears. 

She  heard  the  key  turn  in  the  lock.  They 
had  never  come  so  early  before.  She  was 
astonished  to  see  that  her  jailer  did  not  close 
the  door  as  usual.  He  put  down  the  breakfast 
tray  on  the  table.  There  was  tea  and  toast 
and  fruit. 

"  Mademoiselle,  there  has  been  a  terrible 
mistake,"  said  the  man  humbly. 

"Ah!  So  you  have  found  that  out?"  she 
cried. 


THE  BIRD  BEHIND  BARS        in 

"  Yes.  You  are  not  the  person  for  whom 
this  room  was  intended."  Which  was  half 
a  truth  and  perfectly  true,  paradoxical  as  it 
may  seem.  "  Eat  your  breakfast  in  peace. 
You  are  free,  Mademoiselle." 

"  Free?  You  will  not  hinder  me  if  I  walk 
through  that  door?  " 

"  No,  Mademoiselle.  On  the  contrary,  I 
shall  be  very  glad,  and  so  will  my  brother, 
who  guards  you  at  night.  I  repeat,  there  has 
been  a  frightful  mistake.  Monsieur  Cham- 
peaux  .  .  ." 

"  Monsieur  Champeaux !  "  Nora  was  be 
wildered.  She  had  never  heard  this  name 
before. 

"  He  calls  himself  that,"  was  the  diplomatic 
answer. 

All  Nora's  suspicions  took  firm  ground 
again.  "  Will  you  describe  this  Monsieur 
Champeaux  to  me?  "  asked  the  actress  coming 
into  life. 

"  He  is  short,  dark,  and  old,  Mademoiselle." 


ii2      THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  Rather  is  he  not  tall,  blond,  and  young?  " 
ironically. 

The  jailer  concealed  what  annoyance  he  felt. 
In  his  way  he  was  just  as  capable  an  actor 
as  she  was.  The  accuracy  of  her  description 
startled  him;  for  the  affair  had  been  carried 
out  so  adroitly  that  he  had  been  positive  that 
until  her  real  captor  appeared  she  would  be 
totally  in  the  dark  regarding  his  identity. 
And  here  she  had  hit  it  off  in  less  than  a  dozen 
words.  Oh,  well;  it  did  not  matter  now. 
She  might  try  to  make  it  unpleasant  for  his 
employer,  but  he  doubted  the  ultimate  success 
of  her  attempts.  However,  the  matter  was  at 
an  end  as  far  as  he  was  concerned. 

"  Have  you  thought  what  this  means  ?  It 
is  abduction.  It  is  a  crime  you  have  commit 
ted,  punishable  by  long  imprisonment." 

"  I  have  been  Mademoiselle's  jailer,  not  her 
abductor.  And  when  one  is  poor  and  in  need 
of  money !  "  He  shrugged. 

"  I  will  give  you  a  thousand  francs  for  the 


THE  BIRD  BEHIND  BARS        113 

name  and  address  of  the  man  who  instigated 
this  outrage." 

Ah,  he  thought:  then  she  wasn't  so  sure? 
"  I  told  you  the  name,  Mademoiselle.  As  for 
his  address,  I  dare  not  give  it,  not  for  ten 
thousand  francs.  Besides,  I  have  said  that 
there  has  been  a  mistake." 

"  For  whom  have  I  been  mistaken  ?  " 

"  Who  but  Monsieur  Champeaux's  wife, 
Mademoiselle,  who  is  not  in  her  right  mind  ?  " 
with  inimitable  sadness. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Nora.  "  You  say  that  I 
am  free.  That  is  all  I  want,  freedom." 

"  In  twenty  minutes  the  electric  tram  leaves 
for  Paris.  You  will  recall,  Mademoiselle," 
humbly,  "  that  we  have  taken  nothing  belong 
ing  to  you.  You  have  your  purse  and  hat  and 
cloak.  The  struggle  was  most  unfortunate. 
But,  think,  Mademoiselle,  think;  we  thought 
you  to  be  insane !  " 

"  Permit  me  to  doubt  that !  And  you  are 
not  afraid  to  let  me  go?  " 


ii4      THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  Not  in  the  least,  Mademoiselle.  A  mistake 
has  been  made,  and  in  telling  you  to  go  at 
once,  we  do  our  best  to  rectify  this  mistake. 
It  is  only  five  minutes  to  the  tram.  A  carriage 
is  at  the  door.  Will  Mademoiselle  be  pleased 
to  remember  that  we  have  treated  her  with  the 
utmost  courtesy?  " 

"  I  shall  remember  everything,"  ominously. 

"  Very  good,  Mademoiselle.  You  will  be  in 
Paris  before  nine."  With  this  he  bowed  and 
backed  out  of  the  room  as  though  Nora  had 
suddenly  made  a  distinct  ascension  in  the  scale 
of  importance. 

"Wait!  "she  called. 

His  face  appeared  in  the  doorway  again. 

"  Do  you  know  who  I  am  ?  " 

"  Since  this  morning,  Mademoiselle." 

"  That  is  all." 

Free!  Her  veins  tingled  with  strange  ex 
ultation.  He  had  lost  his  courage  and  had 
become  afraid  of  the  consequences.  Free! 
Monsieur  Champeaux  indeed!  Cowardice 


THE  BIRD  BEHIND  BARS       115 

was  a  new  development  in  his  character.  He 
had  been  afraid  to  come.  She  drank  the  tea, 
but  did  not  touch  the  toast  or  fruit.  There 
would  be  time  enough  for  breakfast  when  she 
arrived  in  Paris.  Her  hands  trembled  vio 
lently  as  she  pinned  on  her  hat,  and  she  was 
not  greatly  concerned  as  to  the  angle.  She 
snatched  up  her  purse  and  cloak,  and  sped  out 
into  the  street.  A  phaeton  awaited  her. 

"  The  tram,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  Mademoiselle." 

"  And  go  quickly."  She  would  not  feel 
safe  until  she  was  in  the  tram. 

A  face  appeared  at  one  of  the  windows. 
As  the  vehicle  turned  the  corner,  the  face  van 
ished;  and  perhaps  that  particular  visage  dis 
appeared  forever.  A  gray  wig  came  off,  the 
little  gray  side-whiskers,  the  bushy  grey  eye 
brows,  revealing  a  clever  face,  not  more  than 
thirty,  cunning,  but  humorously  cunning  and 
anything  but  scoundrelly.  The  painted  scar 
aslant  the  nose  was  also  obliterated.  With 


n6     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

haste  the  man  thrust  the  evidences  of  disguise 
into  a  traveling-bag,  ran  here  and  there 
through  the  rooms,  all  bare  and  unfurnished 
save  the  one  with  the  bars  and  the  kitchen, 
which  contained  two  cots  and  some  cooking 
utensils.  Nothing  of  importance  had  been 
left  behind.  He  locked  the  door  and  ran  all 
the  way  to  the  Place  d'Armes,  catching  the 
tram  to  Paris  by  a  fraction  of  a  minute. 

All  very  well  done.  She  would  be  in  Paris 
before  the  police  made  any  definite  move. 
The  one  thing  that  disturbed  him  was  the 
thought  of  the  blockhead  of  a  chauffeur,  who 
had  got  drunk  before  his  return  from  Ver 
sailles.  If  he  talked;  well,  he  could  say  noth 
ing  beyond  the  fact  that  he  had  deposited  the 
singer  at  the  house  as  directed.  He  knew 
positively  nothing. 

The  man  laughed  softly.  A  thousand 
francs  apiece  for  him  and  Antoine,  and  no 
possible  chance  of  being  discovered.  Let  the 
police  find  the  house  in  Versailles;  let  them 


THE  BIRD  BEHIND  BARS        117 

trace  whatever  paths  they  found;  the  agent 
would  tell  them,  and  honestly,  that  an  aged 
man  had  rented  the  house  for  a  month  and 
had  paid  him  in  advance.  What  more  could 
the  agent  say?  Only  one  bit  of  puzzlement: 
why  hadn't  the  blond  stranger  appeared? 
Who  was  he,  in  truth,  and  what  had  been 
his  game?  All  this  waiting  and  wondering, 
and  then  a  curt  telegram  of  the  night  be 
fore,  saying,  "  Release  her."  So  much  the 
better.  What  his  employer's  motives  were  did 
not  interest  him  half  so  much  as  the  fact  that 
he  had  a  thousand  francs  in  his  pocket,  and 
that  all  element  of  danger  had  been  done  away 
with.  True,  the  singer  herself  would  move 
heaven  and  earth  to  find  out  who  had  been 
back  of  the  abduction.  Let  her  make  her  ac 
cusations.  He  was  out  of  it. 

He  glanced  toward  the  forward  part  of  the 
tram.  There  she  sat,  staring  at  the  white  road 
ahead.  A  young  Frenchman  sat  near  her, 
curling  his  mustache  desperately.  So  beauti- 


ii8     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

ful  and  all  alone!  At  length  he  spoke  to  her. 
She  whirled  upon  him  so  suddenly  that  his  hat 
fell  off  his  head  and  rolled  at  the  feet  of  the 
onlooker. 

:<  Your  hat,  Monsieur?"  he  said  gravely, 
returning  it. 

Nora  laughed  maliciously.  The  author  of 
the  abortive  flirtation  fled  down  to  the  body  of 
the  tram. 

And  now  there  was  no  one  on  top  but  Nora 
and  her  erstwhile  jailer,  whom  she  did  not 
recognize  in  the  least. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  said  the  great  policeman 
soberly,  "  this  is  a  grave  accusation  to  make." 

"  I  make  it,  nevertheless,"  replied  Nora. 
She  sat  stiffly  in  her  chair,  her  face  colorless, 
dark  circles  under  her  eyes.  She  never  looked 
toward  Courtlandt. 

"  But  Monsieur  Courtlandt  has  offered  an 
alibi  such  as  we  can  not  ignore.  More  than 
that,  his  integrity  is  vouched  for  by  the  gentle- 


THE  BIRD  BEHIND  BARS        119 

man  at  his  side,  whom  doubtless  Mademoiselle 
recognizes." 

Nora  eyed  the  great  man  doubtfully. 

"  What  is  the  gentleman  to  you?  "  she  was 
interrogated. 

"  Absolutely  nothing,"  contemptuously. 

The  minister  inspected  his  rings. 

"  He  has  annoyed  me  at  various  times," 
continued  Nora ;  "  that  is  all.  And  his  actions 
on  Friday  night  warrant  every  suspicion  I 
have  entertained  against  him." 

The  chief  of  police  turned  toward  the  ban 
daged  chauffeur.  "  You  recognize  the  gentle 
man?" 

"  No,  Monsieur,  I  never  saw  him  before. 
It  was  an  old  man  who  engaged  me." 

"  Go  on." 

"  He  said  that  Mademoiselle's  old  teacher 
was  very  ill  and  asked  for  assistance.  I  left 
Mademoiselle  at  the  house  and  drove  away. 
I  was  hired  from  the  garage.  That  is  the 
truth,  Monsieur." 


120     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

Nora  smiled  disbelievingly.  Doubtless  he 
had  been  paid  well  for  that  lie. 

"And  you?"  asked  the  chief  of  Nora's 
chauffeur. 

"  He  is  certainly  the  gentleman,  Monsieur, 
who  attempted  to  bribe  me." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Courtlandt  with  utmost 
calmness. 

"  Mademoiselle,  if  Monsieur  Courtlandt 
wished,  he  could  accuse  you  of  attempting  to 
shoot  him." 

"  It  was  an  accident.  His  sudden  appear 
ance  in  my  apartment  frightened  me.  Besides, 
I  believe  a  woman  who  lives  comparatively 
alone  has  a  legal  and  moral  right  to  protect 
herself  from  such  unwarrantable  intrusions. 
I  wish  him  no  physical  injury,  but  I  am  deter 
mined  to  be  annoyed  by  him  no  longer." 

The  minister's  eyes  sought  Courtlandt's  face 
obliquely.  Strange  young  man,  he  thought. 
From  the  expression  of  his  face  he  might  have 
been  a  spectator  rather  than  the  person  most 


THE  BIRD  BEHIND  BARS        121 

vitally  concerned  in  this  little  scene.  And 
what  a  pair  they  made ! 

"  Monsieur  Courtlandt,  you  will  give  me 
your  word  of  honor  not  to  annoy  Mademoi 
selle  again  ?  " 

"  I  promise  never  to  annoy  her  again." 

For  the  briefest  moment  the  blazing  blue 
eyes  clashed  with  the  calm  brown  ones.  The 
latter  were  first  to  deviate  from  the  line.  It 
was  not  agreeable  to  look  into  a  pair  of  eyes 
burning  with  the  hate  of  one's  self.  Perhaps 
.  this  conflagration  was  intensified  by  the  placid 
ity  of  his  gaze.  If  only  there  had  been  some 
sign  of  anger,  of  contempt,  anything  but  this 
incredible  tranquillity  against  which  she  longed 
to  cry  out!  She  was  too  wrathful  to  notice 
the  quickening  throb  of  the  veins  on  his 
temples. 

"  Mademoiselle,  I  find  no  case  against  Mon 
sieur  Courtlandt,  unless  you  wish  to  appear 
against  him  for  his  forcible  entrance  to  your 
apartment."  Nora  shook  her  head.  The  chief 


122     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

of  police  stroked  his  mustache  to  hide  the  fleet 
ing  smile.  A  peculiar  case,  the  like  of  which 
had  never  before  come  under  his  scrutiny! 
"  Circumstantial  evidence,  we  know,  points  to 
him;  but  we  have  also  an  alibi  which  is  incon 
testable.  We  must  look  elsewrhere  for  your  ab 
ductors.  Think;  have  you  not  some  enemy? 
Is  there  no  one  who  might  wish  you  worry  and 
inconvenience?  Are  your  associates  all  loyal 
to  you?  Is  there  any  jealousy?  " 

"No,  none  at  all,  Monsieur,"  quickly  and 
decidedly. 

"  In  my  opinion,  then,  the  whole  affair  is  a 
hoax,  perpetrated  to  vex  and  annoy  you.  The 
old  man  who  employed  this  chauffeur  may  not 
have  been  old.  I  have  looked  upon  all  sides 
of  the  affair,  and  it  begins  to  look  like  a  prac 
tical  joke,  Mademoiselle." 

"  Ah !  "  angrily.  "  And  am  I  to  have  no 
redress?  Think  of  the  misery  I  have  gone 
through,  the  suspense!  My  voice  is  gone.  I 
shall  not  be  able  to  sing  again  for  months.  Is 


THE  BIRD  BEHIND  BARS       123 

it  your  suggestion  that  I  drop  the  investiga 
tion?" 

"  Yes,  Mademoiselle,  for  it  does  not  look 
as  if  we  could  get  anywhere  with  it.  If  you 
insist,  I  will  hold  Monsieur  Courtlandt;  but  I 
warn  you  the  magistrate  would  not  hesitate  to 
dismiss  the  case  instantly.  Monsieur  Court 
landt  arrived  in  Marseilles  Thursday  morning; 
he  reached  Paris  Friday  morning.  Since  ar 
riving  in  Paris  he  has  fully  accounted  for  his 
time.  It  is  impossible  that  he  could  have  ar 
ranged  for  the  abduction.  Still,  if  you  say,  I 
can  hold  him  for  entering  your  apartment." 

"  That  would  be  but  a  farce."  Nora  rose. 
"  Monsieur,  permit  me  to  wish  you  good  day. 
For  my  part,  I  shall  pursue  this  matter  to  the 
end.  I  believe  this  gentleman  guilty,  and  I 
shall  do  my  best  to  prove  it.  I  am  a  woman, 
and  all  alone.  When  a  man  has  powerful 
friends,  it  is  not  difficult  to  build  an  alibi." 

"  That  is  a  reflection  upon  my  word,  Made 
moiselle,"  quietly  interposed  the  minister. 


i24     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  Monsieur  has  been  imposed  upon."  Nora 
walked  to  the  door. 

"Wait  a  moment,  Mademoiselle,"  said  the 
prefect.  "  Why  do  you  insist  upon  prosecut 
ing  him  for  something  of  which  he  is  guilt 
less,  when  you  could  have  him  held  for 
something  of  which  he  is  really  guilty?" 

"  The  one  is  trivial ;  the  other  is  a  seri 
ous  outrage.  Good  morning."  The  attendant 
closed  the  door  behind  her. 

"  A  very  determined  young  woman,"  mused 
the  chief  of  police. 

"  Exceedingly,"  agreed  the  minister. 

Courtlandt  got  up  wearily.  But  the  chief 
motioned  him  to  be  reseated. 

"  I  do  not  say  that  I  dare  not  pursue  my 
investigations;  but  now  that  mademoiselle  is 
safely  returned,  I  prefer  not  to." 

"  May  I  ask  who  made  this  request?  "  asked 
Courtlandt. 

"  Request  ?  Yes,  Monsieur,  it  was  a  re 
quest  not  to  proceed  further," 


THE  BIRD  BEHIND  BARS       125 

"  From  where  ?  " 

"  As  to  that,  you  will  have  to  consult  the 
head  of  the  state.  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  make 
the  disclosure." 

The  minister  leaned  forward  eagerly. 
"  Then  there  is  a  political  side  to  it?  " 

"  There  would  be  if  everything  had  not 
turned  out  so  fortunately." 

"  I  believe  that  I  understand  now,"  said 
Courtlandt,  his  face  hardening.  Strange,  he 
had  not  thought  of  it  before.  His  skepticism 
had  blinded  him  to  all  but  one  angle.  "  Your 
advice  to  drop  the  matter  is  excellent." 

The  chief  of  police  elevated  his  brows  inter 
rogatively. 

"  For  I  presume,"  continued  Courtlandt, 
rising,  "  that  Mademoiselle's  abductor  is  by 
this  time  safely  across  the  frontier." 


CHAPTER  VII 

BATTLING    JIMMIE 

THERE  is  a  heavenly  terrace,  flanked  by 
marvelous  trees.  To  the  left,  far  down 
below,  is  a  curving,  dark-shaded,  turquoise 
body  of  water  called  Lecco;  to  the  right  there 
lies  the  queen  of  lakes,  the  crown  of  Italy, 
a  corn-flower  sapphire  known  as  Como.  Over 
and  about  it  —  this  terrace  —  poets  have  raved 
and  tousled  their  neglected  locks  in  vain  to 
find  the  perfect  phrasing;  novelists  have  come 
and  gone  and  have  carried  away  peace  and  in 
spiration;  and  painters  have  painted  it  from 
a  thousand  points  of  view,  and  perhaps  are 
painting  it  from  another  thousand  this  very 
minute.  It  is  the  Place  of  Honeymoons. 
Rich  lovers  come  and  idle  there;  and  lovers  of 
modest  means  rush  up  to  it  and  down  from 
126 


BATTLING  JIMMIE  '127 

it  to  catch  the  next  steamer  to  Menaggio. 
Eros  was  not  born  in  Greece :  of  all  barren 
mountains,  unstirring,  Hymettus,  or  Olympus, 
or  whatever  they  called  it  in  the  days  of  the 
junketing  gods,  is  completest.  No;  Venus 
went  a-touring  and  abode  a  while  upon  this 
same  gracious  spot,  once  dear  to  Pliny  the 
younger. 

Between  the  blessed  ledge  and  the  towering 
mountains  over  the  way,  rolls  a  small  valley, 
caressed  on  either  side  by  the  lakes.  There 
are  flower  gardens,  from  which  in  summer 
rises  the  spicy  perfume  of  lavender;  there  are 
rows  upon  rows  of  grape-vines,  terraced 
downward ;  there  are  purple  figs  and  white  and 
ruby  mulberries.  Around  and  about,  rising 
sheer  from  the  waters,  wherever  the  eye  may 
rove,  heaven-touching,  salmon-tinted  moun 
tains  abound,  with  scarfs  of  filmy  cloud  aslant 
their  rugged  profiles,  and  beauty-patches  of 
snow.  And  everywhere  the  dark  and  brood 
ing  cypress,  the  copper  beech,  the  green  pine 


128     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

accentuate  the  pink  and  blue  and  white  stucco 
of  the  villas,  the  rich  and  the  humble. 

Behind  the  terrace  is  a  promontory,  three 
or  four  hundred  feet  above  the  waters. 
Upon  the  crest  is  a  cultivated  forest  of  all 
known  evergreens.  There  are  ten  miles  of 
cool  and  fragrant  paths,  well  trodden  by  the 
devotees  of  Eros.  The  call  of  love  is  heard 
here;  the  echoes  to-day  reverberate  with  the 
impassioned  declarations  of  yesterday.  The 
Englishman's  reserve  melts,  the  American  for 
gets  his  coupons,  the  German  puts  his  arm 
around  the  robust  waist  of  his  frau  or  frau- 
lein.  (This  is  nothing  for  him;  he  does  it 
unconcernedly  up  and  down  the  great  urban 
highways  of  the  world.) 

Again,  between  the  terrace  ledge  and  the 
forest  lies  a  square  of  velvet  green,  abound 
ing  in  four-leaf  clover.  Buona  fortuna!  In 
the  center  there  is  a  fountain.  The  water 
tinkles  in  drops.  One  hears  its  soft  music  at 
all  times.  Along  the  terrace  parapet  are  tea- 


BATTLING  JIMMIE  129 

tables;  a  monster  oak  protects  one  from  the 
sun.  If  one  (or  two)  lingers  over  tea  and 
cakes,  one  may  witness  the  fiery  lances  of  the 
setting  sun  burn  across  one  arm  of  water 
while  the  silver  spars  of  the  rising  moon  shim 
mer  across  the  other.  Nature  is  whole-souled 
here;  she  gives  often  and  freely  and  all  she 
has. 

Seated  on  one  of  the  rustic  benches,  his 
white  tennis  shoes  resting  against  the  lower 
iron  of  the  railing,  a  Bavarian  dachel  snooz 
ing  comfortably  across  his  knees,  was  a  man 
of  fifty.  He  was  broad  of  shoulder,  deep  of 
chest,  and  clean-shaven.  He  had  laid  aside 
his  Panama  hat,  and  his  hair  was  clipped 
closely,  and  was  pleasantly  and  honorably 
sprinkled  with  gray.  His  face  was  broad  and 
tanned;  the  nose  was  tilted,  and  the  wide 
mouth  was  both  kindly  and  humorous.  One 
knew,  from  the  tint  of  his  blue  eyes  and  the 
quirk  of  his  lips,  that  when  he  spoke  there 
would  be  a  bit  of  brogue.  He  was  James 


130     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

Harrigan,  one  time  celebrated  in  the  ring  for 
his  gameness,  his  squareness,  his  endurance; 
"  Battling  Jimmie  "  Harrigan,  who,  when  he 
encountered  his  first  knock-out,  retired  from 
the  ring.  He  had  to  his  credit  sixty-one  bat 
tles,  of  which  he  had  easily  won  forty.  He 
had  been  outpointed  in  some  and  had  broken 
even  in  others;  but  only  once  had  he  been 
"  railroaded  into  dreamland ",  to  use  the 
parlance  of  the  game.  That  was  enough. 
He  understood.  Youth  would  be  served,  and 
.he  was  no  longer  young.  He  had,  unlike  the 
many  in  his  peculiar  service,  lived  cleanly  and 
with  wisdom  and  foresight:  he  had  saved 
both  his  money  and  his  health.  To-day  he 
was  at  peace  with  the  world,  with  three  sound 
appetites  the  day  and  the  wherewithal  to 
gratify  them. 

True,  he  often  dreamed  of  the  old  days,  the 
roped  square,  the  lights,  the  haze  of  tobacco 
smoke,  the  white  patches  surrounding,  all  of 
a  certain  expectant  tilt,  the  reporters  scribbling 


BATTLING  JIMMIE  131 

on  the  deal  tables  under  the  very  posts,  the 
cheers  as  he  took  his  corner  and  scraped  his 
shoes  in  the  powdered  resin,  the  padded  gloves 
thrown  down  in  the  center  of  the  canvas  which 
was  already  scarred  -and  soiled  by  the  pre 
liminaries.  But  never,  never  again;  if  only 
for  the  little  woman's  sake.  Only  when  the 
game  was  done  did  he  learn  with  what  terror 
and  dread  she  had  waited  for  his  return  on 
fighting  nights. 

To-day  "  Battling  Jimmie  "  was  forgotten 
.  by  the  public,  and  he  was  happy  in  the  se 
clusion  of  this  forgetfulness.  A  new  and 
strange  career  had  opened  up  before  him:  he 
was  the  father  of  the  most  beautiful  prima 
donna  in  the  operatic  world,  and,  difficult  as 
the  task  was,  he  did  his  best  to  live  up  to  it. 
It  was  hard  not  to  offer  to  shake  hands  when 
he  was  presented  to  a  princess  or  a  duchess; 
it  was  hard  to  remember  when  to  change  the 
studs  in  his  shirt;  and  a  white  cravat  was  the 
terror  of  his  nights,  for  his  fingers,  broad  and 


132      THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

stubby  and  powerful,  had  not  been  trained  to 
the  delicate  task  of  tying  a  bow-knot.  By  a 
judicious  blow  in  that  spot  where  the  ribs 
divaricate  he  could  right  well  tie  his  adversary 
into  a  bow-knot,  but  this  string  of  white  lawn 
was  a  most  damnable  thing.  Still,  the  putter 
ing  of  the  two  women,  their  daily  concern 
over  his  deportment,  was  bringing  him  into 
conformity  with  social  usages.  That  he 
naturally  despised  the  articles  of  such  a  soul 
less  faith  was  evident  in  his  constant  inclina 
tion  to  play  hooky.  One  thing  he  rebelled 
against  openly,  and  with  such  firmness  that 
the  women  did  not  press  him  too  strongly  for 
fear  of  a  general  revolt.  On  no  occasion, 
however  impressive,  would  he  wear  a  silk  hat. 
Christmas  and  birthdays  invariably  called 
forth  the  gift  of  a  silk  hat,  for  the  women 
trusted  that  they  could  overcome  resistance 
by  persistence.  He  never  said  anything,  but 
it  was  noticed  that  the  hotel  porter,  or  the 
gardener,  or  whatever  masculine  head  (save 


BATTLING  JIMMIE  133 

his  own)  was  available,  came  forth  resplendent 
on  feast-days  and  Sundays. 

Leaning  back  in  an  iron  chair,  with  his 
shoulders  resting  against  the  oak,  was  another 
man,  altogether  a  different  type.  He  was 
frowning  over  the  pages  of  Bagot's  Italian 
Lakes,  and  he  wasn't  making  much  headway. 
He  was  Italian  to  the  core,  for  all  that  he  aped 
the  English  style  and  manner.  He  could 
speak  the  tongue  with  fluency,  but  he 
stumbled  and  faltered  miserably  over  the 
soundless  type.  His  clothes  had  the  Pic 
cadilly  cut,  and  his  mustache,  erstwhile  waxed 
and  militant,  was  cropped  at  the  corners, 
thoroughly  insular.  He  was  thirty,  and  un 
deniably  handsome. 

Near  the  fountain,  on  the  green,  was  a  third 
man.  He  was  in  the  act  of  folding  up  an 
easel  and  a  camp-stool. 

The  tea-drinkers  had  gone.  It  was  time  for 
the  first  bell  for  dinner.  The  villa's  omnibus 
was  toiling  up  the  winding  road  among  the 


134     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

grape-vines.  Suddenly  Harrigan  tilted  his 
head  sidewise,  and  the  long  silken  ears  of  the 
dachel  stirred.  The  Italian  slowly  closed  his 
book  and  permitted  his  chair  to  settle  on  its 
four  legs.  The  artist  stood  up  from  his  paint 
box.  From  a  window  in  the  villa  came  a 
voice;  only  a  lilt  of  a  melody,  no  words, —  half 
a  dozen  bars  from  Martha;  but  every  delight 
ful  note  went  deep  into  the  three  masculine 
hearts.  Harrigan  smiled  and  patted  the  dog. 
The  Italian  scowled  at  the  vegetable  garden 
directly  below.  The  artist  scowled  at  the 
Italian. 

"  Fritz,  Fritz ;  here,  Fritz !  " 

The  dog  struggled  in  Harrigan's  hands  and. 
tore  himself  loose.  He  went  clattering  over 
the  path  toward  the  villa  and  disappeared  into 
the  doorway.  Nothing  could  keep  him  when 
that  voice  called.  He  was  as  ardent  a  lover 
as  any,  and  far  more  favored. 

"  Oh,   you    funny  little   dog !     You   merry 


BATTLING  JIMMIE  135 

little  dachel !  Fritz,  mustn't ;  let  go !  "  Si 
lence. 

The  artist  knew  that  she  was  cuddling  the 
puppy  to  her  heart,  and  his  own  grew  twisted. 
He  stooped  over  his  materials  again  and  tied 
the  box  to  the  easel  and  the  stool,  and  shifted 
them  under  his  arm. 

"  I'll  be  up  after  dinner,  Mr.  Harrigan,"  he 
said. 

"  All  right,  Abbott."  Harrigan  waved  his 
hand  pleasantly.  He  was  becoming  so  used  to 
the  unvarying  statement  that  Abbott  would  be 
up  after  dinner,  that  his  reply  was  by  now 
purely  mechanical.  "  She's  getting  her  voice 
back  all  right ;  eh  ?  " 

"Beautifully!  But  I  really  don't  think  she 
ought  to  sing  at  the  Haines'  villa  Sunday." 

"  One  song  won't  hurt  her.  She's  made  up 
her  mind  to  sing.  There's  nothing  for  us  to 
do  but  to  sit  tight.  No  news  from  Paris  ?  " 

"  No." 


136     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  Say,  do  you  know  what  I  think?  " 
"What?" 

"  Some  one  has  come  across  to  the  police." 
"  Paris  is  not  New  York,  Mr.  Harrigan." 
"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  There's  a  hundred 
cents  to  the  dollar,  my  boy,  Paris  or  New 
York.  Why  haven't  they  moved?  They 
can't  tell  me  that  tow-headed  chap's  alibi  was 
on  the  level.  I  wish  I'd  been  in  Paris. 
There'd  been  something  doing.  And  who  was 
he?  They  refuse  to  give  his  name.  And  I 
can't  get  a  word  out  of  Nora.  Shuts  me  up 
with  a  bang  when  I  mention  it.  Throws  her 
nerves  all  out,  she  says.  I'd  like  to  get  my 
hands  on  the  blackguard." 

"  So  would  I.  It's  a  puzzle.  If  he  had 
molested  her  while  she  was  a  captive;  you 
could  understand.  But  he  never  came  near 
her." 

"  Busted  his  nerve,  that's  what" 
"  I  have  my  doubts  about  that.     A  man  who 
will  go  that  far  isn't  subject  to  any  derange- 


BATTLING  JIMMIE  137 

ment  of  his  nerves.  Want  me  to  bring  up  the 
checkers  ?  " 

"  Sure.  I've  got  two  rubbers  hanging  over 
you." 

The  artist  took  the  path  that  led  around 
the  villa  and  thence  down  by  many  steps  to 
the  village  by  the  waterside,  to  the  cream- 
tinted  cluster  of  shops  and  enormous  hotels. 

The  Italian  was  more  fortunate.  He  was 
staying  at  the  villa.  He  rose  and  sauntered 
over  to  Harrigan,  who  was  always  a  source  of 
interest  to  him.  Study  the  man  as  he  might, 
there  always  remained  a  profound  mystery  to 
his  keen  Italian  mind.  Every  now  and  then 
nature  —  to  prove  that  while  she  provided  laws 
for  humanity  she  obeyed  none  herself  —  nature 
produced  the  prodigy.  Ancestry  was  nothing ; 
habits,  intelligence,  physical  appearance  counted 
for  naught.  Harrigan  was  a  fine  specimen  of 
the  physical  man,  yes;  but  to  be  the  father  of 
a  woman  who  was  as  beautiful  as  the  legendary 
goddesses  and  who  possessed  a  voice  incom- 


parable  in  the  living  history  of  music,  here 
logic,  the  cold  and  accurate  intruder,  found 
an  unlockable  door.  He  liked  the  ex-prize 
fighter,  so  kindly  and  wholesome;  but  he  also 
pitied  him.  Harrigan  reminded  him  of  a  seal 
he  had  once  seen  in  an  aquarium  tank:  out  of 
his  element,  but  merry-eyed  and  swimming 
round  and  round  as  if  determined  to  please 
everybody. 

"  It  will  be  a  fine  night,"  said  the  Italian, 
pausing  at  Harrigan's  bench. 

"  Every  night  is  ,fine  here,  Barone,"  replied 
Harrigan.  "  Why,  they  had  me  up  in  Marien- 
bad  a  few  weeks  ago,  and  I'm  not  over  it  yet. 
It's  no  place  for  a  sick  man;  only  a  well  man 
could  come  out  of  it  alive." 

The  Barone  laughed.  Harrigan  had  told 
this  tale  half  a  dozen  times,  but  each  time  the 
Barone  felt  called  on  to  laugh.  The  man  wa's 
her  father. 

"  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Harrigan,  Miss  Har 
rigan  is  not  herself?  She  is  —  what  do  you 


BATTLING  JIMMIE  139 

call  ?  —  bitter.  She  laughs,  but  —  ah,  I  do 
not  know !  —  it  sounds  not  real." 

"  Well,  she  isn't  over  that  rumpus  in  Paris 
yet." 

"Rumpus?" 

"  The  abduction." 

"  Ah,  yes !  Rumpus  is  another  word  for 
abduction?  Yes,  yes,  I  see." 

"  No,  no !  Rumpus  is  just  a  mix-up,  a  row, 
anything  that  makes  a  noise,  calls  in  the  police. 
You  can  make  a  rumpus  on  the  piano,  over 
a  game  of  cards,  anything." 

The  Barone  spread  his  hands.  "  I  compre 
hend,"  hurriedly.  He  comprehended  nothing, 
but  he  was  too  proud  to  admit  it. 

"  So  Nora  is  not  herself;  a  case  of  nerves. 
And  to  think  that  you  called  there  at  the 
apartment  the  very  day !  " 

"  Ah,  if  I  had  been  there  the  right  time!  " 

"  But  what  puts  me  down  for  the  count  is 
the  action  of  the  fellow.  Never  showed  up; 
just  made  her  miss  two  performances/' 


140     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  He  was  afraid.  Men  who  do  cowardly 
things  are  always  afraid."  The  Barone  spoke 
with  decided  accent,  but  he  seldom  made  a 
grammatical  error.  "  But  sometimes,  too,  men 
grow  mad  at  once,  and  they  do  things  in  their 
madness.  Ah,  she  is  so  beautiful!  She  is  a 
nightingale."  The  Italian  looked  down  on 
Como  whose  broad  expanse  was  crisscrossed 
by  rippled  paths  made  by  arriving  and  depart 
ing  steamers.  "  It  is  not  a  wonder  that  some 
man  might  want  to  run  away  with  her." 

Harrigan  looked  curiously  at  the  other. 
"  Well,  it  won't  be  healthy  for  any  man  to  try 
it  again."  The  father  held  out  his  powerful 
hands  for  the  Barone's  inspection.  They 
called  mutely  but  expressively  for  the  throat 
of  the  man  who  dared.  "  It'll  never  happen 
again.  Her  mother  and  I  are  not  going  away 
from  her  any  more.  When  she  sings  in  Ber 
lin,  I'm  going  to  trail  along ;  when  she  hits  the 
high  note  in  Paris,  I'm  lingering  near;  when 
she  trills  in  London,  I'm  hiding  in  the  shadow, 


BATTLING  JIMMIE  141 

And  you  may  put  that  in  your  pipe  and  smoke 
it." 

"  I  smoke  only  cigarettes,"  replied  the 
Barone  gravely.  It  had  been  difficult  to  fol 
low,  this  English. 

Harrigan  said  nothing  in  return.  He  had 
given  up  trying  to  explain  to  the  Italian  the 
idiomatic  style  of  old  Broadway.  He  got  up 
and  brushed  his  flannels  perfunctorily. 
"  Well,  I  suppose  I've  got  to  dress  for  sup 
per,"  resentfully.  He  still  called  it  supper; 
and,  as  in  the  matter  of  the  silk  hat,  his  wife 
no  longer  strove  to  correct  him.  The  evening 
meal  had  always  been  supper,  and  so  it  would 
remain  until  that  time  when  he  would  cease 
to  look  forward  to  it. 

"Do  you  go  to  the  dancing  at  Cadenabbia 
to-night?" 

"  Me  ?  I  should  say  not ! "  Harrigan 
laughed.  "  I'd  look  like  a  bull  in  a  china-shop. 
Abbott  is  coming  up  to  play  checkers  with  me. 
I'll  leave  the  honors  to  you," 


142     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

The  Barone's  face  lighted  considerably. 
He  hated  the  artist  only  when  he  was  visible. 
He  was  rather  confused,  however.  Abbott 
had  been  invited  to  the  dance.  Why  wasn't 
he  going?  Could  it  be  true?  Had  the  artist 
tried  his  luck  and  lost?  Ah,  if  fate  were  as 
kind  as  that!  He  let  Harrigan  depart  alone. 

Why  not?  What  did  he  care?  What  if 
the  father  had  been  a  fighter  for  prizes? 
What  if  the  mother  was  possessed  with  a 
misguided  desire  to  shine  socially?  What 
mattered  it  if  they  had  once  resided  in  an  ob 
scure  tenement  in  a  great  city,  and  that  grand 
fathers  were  as  far  back  as  they  could  go 
with  any  certainty?  Was  he  not  his  own 
master?  What  titled  woman  of  his  acquaint 
ance  whose  forebears  had  been  powerful  in 
the  days  of  the  Borgias,  was  not  dimmed  in 
the  presence  of  this  wonderful  maid  to  whom 
all  things  had  been  given  unreservedly?  Her 
brow  was  fit  for  a  royal  crown,  let  alone  a 
simple  baronial  tiara  such  as  he  could  provide. 


BATTLING   JIMMIE  143 

The  mother  favored  him  a  little;  of  this  he 
was  reasonably  certain;  but  the  moods  of  the 
daughter  were  difficult  to  discover  or  to 
follow. 

To-night!  The  round  moon  was  rising 
palely  over  Lecco;  the  moon, -mistress  of  love 
and  tides,  toward  whom  all  men  and  maids 
must  look,  though  only  Eros  knows  why! 
Evidently  there  was  no  answer  to  the  Italian's 
question,  for  he  faced  about  and  walked  mood 
ily  toward  the  entrance.  Here  he  paused, 
looking  up  at  the  empty  window.  Again  a 
snatch  of  song — 

0  solo  mio    .    .    .    che  bella  cosa   .    .    .  ! 

What  a  beautiful  thing  indeed!  Passion 
ately  he  longed  for  the  old  days,  when  by  his 
physical  prowess  alone  oft  a  man  won  his  lady. 
Diplomacy,  torrents  of  words,  sly  little  tricks, 
subterfuges,  adroitness,  stolen  glances,  care 
less  touches  of  the  hand ;  by  these  must  a  maid 
be  won  to-day.  When  she  was  happy  she 
sang,  when  she  was  sad,  when  she  was  only 


144     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

mischievous.  She  was  just  as  likely  to  sing 
0  terra  addio  when  she  was  happy  as  0  sole 
mio  when  she  was  sad.  So,  how  was  a  man 
to  know  the  right  approach  to  her  variant 
moods?  Sighing  deeply,  he  went  on  to  his 
room,  to  change  his  Piccadilly  suit  for  another 
which  was  supposed  to  be  the  last  word  in  the 
matter  of  evening  dress. 

Below,  in  the  village,  a  man  entered  the 
Grand  Hotel.  He  was  tall,  blond,  rosy- 
cheeked.  He  carried  himself  like  one  used  to 
military  service;  also,  like  one  used  to  giving 
peremptory  orders.  The  porter  bowed,  the 
director  bowed,  and  the  proprietor  himself 
became  a  living  carpenter's  square,  hinged. 
The  porter  and  the  director  recognized  a  per 
sonage;  the  proprietor  recognized  the  man. 
It  was  of  no  consequence  that  the  new  arrival 
called  himself  Herr  Rosen.  He  was  assigned 
to  a  suite  of  rooms,  and  on  returning  to  the 
bureau,  the  proprietor  squinted  his  eyes  ab 
stractedly.  He  knew  every  woman  of  impor- 


BATTLING  JIMMIE  145 

tance  at  that  time  residing  on  the  Point.  Cer 
tainly  it  could  be  none  of  these.  Hiinmel! 
He  struck  his  hands  together.  So  that  was 
it:  the  singer.  He  recalled  the  hints  in  cer 
tain  newspaper  paragraphs,  the  little  tales  with 
the  names  left  to  the  imagination.  So  that 
was  it? 

What  a  woman!  Men  looked  at  her  and 
went  mad.  And  not  so  long  ago  one  had  ab 
ducted  her  in  Paris.  The  proprietor  threw  up 
his  hands  in  despair.  What  was  going  to  hap 
pen  to  the  peace  of  this  bucolic  spot?  The 
youth  permitted  nothing  to  stand  in  his  way, 
and  the  singer's  father  was  a  retired  fighter 
with  boxing-gloves! 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MOONLIGHT   AND    A    PRINCE 

WHEN  he  had  fought  what  he  considered 
two  rattling  rounds,  Harrigan  con 
ceded  that  his  cravat  had  once  more  got  the 
decision  over  him  on  points.  And  the  cra 
vat  was  only  a  second-rater,  too,  a  black-silk 
affair.  He  tossed  up  the  sponge  and  went 
down  to  the  dining-room,  the  ends  of  the  con 
queror  straggling  like  the  four  points  of  a 
battered  weather-vane.  His  wife  and  daugh 
ter  and  Mademoiselle  Fournier  were  already 
at  their  table  by  the  casement  window,  from 
which  they  could  see  the  changing  granite 
mask  of  Napoleon  across  Lecco. 

At  the  villa  there  were  seldom  more  than 
ten   or   twelve   guests,    this    being   quite   the 
capacity  of  the  little  hotel.     These  generally 
146 


MOONLIGHT  AND  A  PRINCE     147 

took  refuge  here  in  order  to  escape  the  noise 
and  confusion  of  a  large  hotel,  to  avoid  the 
necessity  of  dining  in  state  every  night.  Few 
of  the  men  wore  evening  dress,  save  on  oc 
casions  when  they  were  entertaining.  The 
villa  wasn't  at  all  fashionable,  and  the  run  of 
American  tourists  fought  shy  of  it,  preferring 
the  music  and  dancing  and  card-playing  of  the 
famous  hostelries  along  the  water-front.  Of 
course,  everybody  came  up  for  the  view,  just 
as  everybody  went  up  the  Corner  Grat  (by 
cable)  at  Zermatt  to  see  the  Matterhorn. 
But  for  all  its  apparent  dulness,  there  was 
always  an  English  duchess,  a  Russian  princess, 
or  a  lady  from  the  Faubourg  St.-Germain 
somewhere  about,  resting  after  a  strenuous 
winter  along  the  Riviera.  Nora  Harrigan 
sought  it  not  only  because  she  loved  the  spot, 
but  because  it  sheltered  her  from  idle  curiosity. 
It  was  almost  as  if  the  villa  were  hers,  and  the 
other  people  her  guests. 

Harrigan  crossed  the  room  briskly,  urged 


148     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

by  an  appetite  as  sound  as  his  views  on  life. 
The  chef  here  was  a  king;  there  was  always 
something  to  look  forward  to  at  the  dinner 
hour;  some  new  way  of  serving  spinach,  or 
lentils,  or  some  irresistible  salad.  He  smiled 
at  every  one  and  pulled  out  his  chair. 

"  Sorry  to  keep  you  folks  waiting." 

"James!" 

"What's  the  matter  now?"  he  asked  good- 
naturedly.  Never  that  tone  but  something 
was  out  of  kilter. 

His  wife  glanced  wrathfully  at  his  feet. 
Wonderingly  he  looked  down.  In  the  heat  of 
the  battle  with  his  cravat  he  had  forgotten 
all  about  his  tennis  shoes. 

"  I  see.  No  soup  for  mine."  He  went 
back  to  his  room,  philosophically.  There  was 
always  something  wrong  when  he  got  into 
these  infernal  clothes. 

"  Mother,"  said  Nora,  "  why  can't  you  let 
him  be?" 

"  But  white  shoes !  "  in  horror. 


MOONLIGHT  AND  A  PRINCE     149 

"  Who  cares  ?  He's  the  patientest  man  I 
know.  We're  always  nagging  him,  and  I  for 
one  am  going  to  stop.  Look  about !  So  few 
men  and  women  dress  for  dinner.  You  do 
as  you  please  here,  and  that  is  why  I  like  it." 

"  I  shall  never  be  able  to  do  anything  with 
him  as  long  as  he  sees  that  his  mistakes  are 
being  condoned  by  you,"  bitterly  responded  the 
mother.  "  Some  day  he  will  humiliate  us  all 
by  his  carelessness." 

"Oh,  bother!"  Nora's  elbow  slyly  dug 
into  Celeste's  side. 

The  pianist's  pretty  face  was  bent  over 
her  soup.  She  had  grown  accustomed  to  these 
little  daily  rifts.  For  the  great,  patient, 
clumsy,  happy-go-lucky  man  she  entertained 
an  intense  pity.  But  it  was  not  the  kind  that 
humiliates;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  of  a 
mothering  disposition;  and  the  ex-gladiator 
dimly  recognized  it,  and  felt  more  comfortable 
with  her  than  with  any  other  woman  except 
ing  Nora.  She  understood  him  perhaps  bet- 


1 50     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

ter  than  either  mother  or  daughter;  he  was 
too  late:  he  belonged  to  a  distant  time,  the 
beginning  of  the  Christian  era;  and  often  she 
pictured  him  braving  the  net  and  the  trident 
in  the  saffroned  arena. 

Mrs.  Harrigan  broke  her  bread  vexatiously. 
Her  husband  refused  to  think  for  himself,  and 
it  was  wearing  on  her  nerves  to  watch  him  day 
and  night.  Deep  down  under  the  surface  of 
new  adjustments  and  social  ambitions,  deep  in 
the  primitive  heart,  he  was  still  her  man.  But 
it  was  only  when  he  limped  with  an  occasional 
twinge  of  rheumatism,  or  a  tooth  ached,  or 
he  dallied  with  his  meals,  that  the  old  love- 
instinct  broke  up  through  these  artificial 
crustations.  True,  she  never  knew  how  often 
he  invented  these  trivial  ailments,  for  he  soon 
came  into  the  knowledge  that  she  was  less 
concerned  about  him  when  he  was  hale  and 
hearty.  She  still  retained  evidences  of  a 
blossomy  beauty.  Abbott  had  once  said  truly 
that  nature  had  experimented  on  her;  it  \vas 


MOONLIGHT  AND  A  PRINCE      151 

in  the  reproduction  that  perfection  had  been 
reached.  To  see  the  father,  the  mother,  and 
the  daughter  together  it  was  not  difficult  to 
fashion  a  theory  as  to  the  latter's  splendid 
health  and  physical  superiority.  Arriving  at 
this  point,  however,  theory  began  to  fray  at 
the  ends.  No  one  could  account  for  the  genius 
and  the  voice.  The  mother  often  stood  lost 
in  wonder  that  out  of  an  ordinary  childhood, 
a  barelegged,  romping,  hoydenish  childhood, 
this  marvel  should  emerge :  hers ! 

She  was  very  ambitious  for  her  daughter. 
She  wanted  to  see  nothing  less  than  a  ducal 
coronet  upon  the  child's  brow,  British  pre 
ferred.  If  ordinary  chorus  girls  and  vaude 
ville  stars,  possessing  only  passable  beauty  and 
no  intelligence  whatever,  could  bring  earls  into 
their  nets,  there  was  no  reason  why  Nora 
could  not  be  a  princess  or  a  duchess.  So  she 
planned  accordingly.  But  the  child  puzzled 
and  eluded  her;  and  from  time  to  time  she 
discovered  a  disquieting  strength  of  char- 


152     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

acter  behind  a  disarming  amiability.  Ever 
since  Nora  had  returned  home  by  way  of  the 
Orient,  the  mother  had  recognized  a  subtle 
change,  so  subtle  that  she  never  had  an  op 
portunity  of  alluding  to  it  verbally.  Perhaps 
the  fault  lay  at  her  own  door.  She  should 
never  have  permitted  Nora  to  come  abroad 
alone  to  fill  her  engagements. 

But  that  Nora  was  to  marry  a  duke  was, 
to  her  mind,  a  settled  fact.  It  is  a  peculiar 
phase,  this  of  the  humble  who  find  themselves, 
without  effort  of  their  own,  thrust  up  among 
the  great  and  the  so-called,  who  forget  whence 
they  came  in  the  fierce  contest  for  supremacy 
upon  that  tottering  ledge  called  society.  The 
cad  and  the  snob  are  only  infrequently  well 
born.  Mrs.  Harrigan  was  as  yet  far  from 
being  a  snob,  but  it  required  some  tact  upon 
Nora's  part  to  prevent  this  dubious  accom 
plishment. 

"  Is  Mr.  Abbott  going  with  us  ?  "  she  in 
quired. 


MOONLIGHT  AND  A  PRINCE      153 

"  Donald  is  sulking,"  Nora  answered. 
"  For  once  the  Barone  got  ahead  of  him  in 
engaging  the  motor-boat." 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  call  him  by  his  first 
name." 

"  And  why  not  ?  I  like  him,  and  he  is  a 
very  good  comrade." 

"  You  do  not  call  the  Barone  by  his  given 
name." 

"  Heavens,  no !  If  I  did  he  would  kiss  me. 
These  Italians  will  never  understand  western 
customs,  mother.  I  shall  never  marry  an 
Italian,  much  as  I  love  Italy." 

"  Nor  a  Frenchman?  "  asked  Celeste. 

"  Nor  a  Frenchman." 

"  I  wish  I  knew  if  you  meant  it,"  sighed 
the  mother. 

"  My  dear,  I  have  given  myself  to  the  stage. 
You  will  never  see  me  being  led  to  the  altar." 

"  No,  you  will  do  the  leading  when  the  time 
comes,"  retorted  the  mother. 

"  Mother,   the  men   I  like  you  may  count 


154     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

upon  the  fingers  of  one  hand.  Three  of  them 
are  old.  For  the  rest,  I  despise  men." 

"  I  suppose  some  day  you  will  marry  some 
poverty-stricken  artist,"  said  the  mother,  filled 
with  dark  foreboding. 

"  You  would  not  call  Donald  poverty- 
stricken." 

"  No.     But  you  will  never  marry  him." 

"  No.     I  never  shall." 

Celeste  smoothed  her  hands,  a  little  trick  she 
had  acquired  from  long  hours  spent  at  the 
piano.  "  He  will  make  some  woman  a  good 
husband." 

"  That  he  will." 

"  And  he  is  most  desperately  in  love  with 
you." 

"That's  nonsense!"  scoffed  Nora.  "He 
thinks  he  is.  He  ought  to  fall  in  love  with 
you,  Celeste.  Every  time  you  play  the  fourth 
ballade  he  looks  as  if  he  was  ready  to  throw 
himself  at  your  feet." 


MOONLIGHT  AND  A  PRINCE     155 

"  Ponf!  For  ten  minutes  ? "  Celeste 
laughed  bravely.  "  He  leaves  me  quickly 
enough  when  you  begin  to  sing." 

"  Glamour,  glamour !  " 

"  Well,  I  should  not  care  for  the  article 
second-hand." 

The  arrival  of  Harrigan  put  an  end  to  this 
dangerous  trend  of  conversation.  He  walked 
in  tight  proper  pumps,  and  sat  down.  He  was 
only  hungry  now;  the  zest  for  dining  was 
gone. 

"  Don't  go  sitting  out  in  the  night  air, 
Nora,"  he  warned. 

"  I  sha'n't." 

"  And  don't  dance  more  than  you  ought  to. 
Your  mother  would  let  you  wear  the  soles  off 
your  shoes  if  she  thought  you  were  attracting 
attention.  Don't  do  it." 

"  James,  that  is  not  true,"  the  mother  pro 
tested. 

"  Well,  Molly,  you  do  like  to  hear  'em  talk. 


156     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

I  wish  they  knew  how  to  cook  a  good  club 
steak." 

"  I  brought  up  a  book  from  the  village  for 
you  to-day,"  said  Mrs.  Harrigan,  sternly. 

"  I'll  bet  a  dollar  it's  on  how  to  keep  the 
creases  in  a  fellow's  pants." 

"  Trousers." 

"  Pants,"  helping  himself  to  the  last  of  the 
romaine.  "  What  time  do  you  go  over  ?  " 

"  At  nine.  We  must  be  getting  ready  now," 
said  Nora.  "  Don't  wait  up  for  us." 

"  And  only  one  cigar,"  added  the  mother. 

"  Say,  Molly,  you  keep  closing  in  on  me. 
Tobacco  won't  hurt  me  any,  and  I  get  a  good 
deal  of  comfort  out  of  it  these  days." 

"  Two,"  smiled  Nora. 

"But  his  heart!" 

"  And  what  in  mercy's  name  is  the  matter 
with  his  heart?  The  doctor  at  Marienbad 
said  that  father  was  the  soundest  man  of  his 
age  he  had  ever  met."  Nora  looked  quiz 
zically  at  her  father. 


MOONLIGHT  AND  A  PRINCE     157 

He  grinned.  Out  of  his  own  mouth  he  had 
been  nicely  trapped.  That  morning  he  had 
complained  of  a  little  twinge  in  his  heart,  a 
childish  subterfuge  to  take  Mrs.  Harrigan's 
attention  away  from  the  eternal  society  page 
of  the  Herald.  It  had  succeeded.  He  had 
even  been  cuddled. 

"  James,  you  told  me     .     .     ." 

"  Oh,  Molly,  I  only  wanted  to  talk  to  you." 

"  To  do  so  it  isn't  necessary  to  frighten  me 
to  death,"  reproachfully.  "  One  cigar,  and  no 
more." 

"Molly,  what  ails  you?"  as  they  left  the 
dining-room.  "  Nora's  right.  That  sawbones 
said  I  was  made  of  iron.  I'm  only  smoking 
native  cigars,  and  it  takes  a  bunch  of  'em  to 
get  the  taste  of  tobacco.  All  right;  in  a  few 
months  you'll  have  me  with  the  stuffed  canary 
under  the  glass  top.  What's  the  name  of  that 
book?"  diplomatically. 

"Social  Usages." 

"  Break  away !  " 


158     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

Nora  laughed.  "  But,  dad,  you  really  must 
read  it  carefully.  It  will  tell  you  how  to  talk 
to  a  duchess,  if  you  chance  to  meet  one 
when  I  am  not  around.  It  has  all  the  names 
of  the  forks  and  knives  and  spoons,  and  it 
tells  you  never  to  use  sugar  on  your  lettuce." 
And  then  she  threw  her  arm  around  her 
mother's  waist.  "  Honey,  when  you  buy 
books  for  father,  be  sure  they  are  by  Dumas 
or  Haggard  or  Doyle.  Otherwise  he  will 
never  read  a  line." 

"  And  I  try  so  hard !  "  Tears  came  into 
Mrs.  Harrigan's  eyes. 

"There,  there,  Molly,  old  girl!"  soothed 
the  outlaw.  "  I'll  read  the  book.  I  know  I'm 
a  stupid  old  stumbling-block,  but  it's  hard  to 
teach  an  old  dog  new  tricks,  that  is,  at  the 
ring  of  the  gong.  Run  along  to  your  party. 
And  don't  break  any  more  hearts  than  you 
need,  Nora." 

Nora  promised  in  good  faith.  But  once  in 
the  ballroom,  that  little  son  of  Satan  called 


MOONLIGHT  AND  A  PRINCE     159 

malice-aforethought  took  possession  of  her; 
and  there  was  havoc.  If  a  certain  American 
countess  had  not  patronized  her;  if  certain 
lorgnettes  (implements  of  torture  used  by 
said  son  of  Satan)  had  not  been  leveled  in 
her  direction;  if  certain  fans  had  not  been 
suggestively  spread  between  pairs  of  feminine 
heads, —  Nora  would  have  been  as  harmless 
as  a  playful  kitten. 

From  door  to  door  of  the  ballroom  her 
mother  fluttered  like  a  hen  with  a  duckling. 
Even  Celeste  was  disturbed,  for  she  saw  that 
Nora's  conduct  was  not  due  to  any  light- 
hearted  fun.  There  was  something  bitter  and 
ironic  cloaked  by  those  smiles,  that  tinkle  of 
laughter.  In  fact,  Nora  from  Tuscany 
flirted  outrageously.  The  Barone  sulked  and 
tore  at  his  mustache.  He  committed  any 
number  of  murders,  by  eye  and  by  wish. 
When  his  time  came  to  dance  with  the  mis 
chief-maker,  he  whirled  her  around  savagely, 
and  never  said  a  word;  and  once  done  with, 


i6o     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

he  sternly  returned  her  to  her  mother,  which 
he  deemed  the  wisest  course  to  pursue. 

"  Nora,  you  are  behaving  abominably  1 " 
whispered  her  mother,  pale  with  indignation. 

"  Well,  I  am  having  a  good  time  .  .  . 
Your  dance?  Thank  you." 

And  a  tender  young  American  led  her 
through  the  mazes  of  the  waltz,  as  some  poet 

who  knew  what  he  was  about  phrased  it. 

* 

It  is  not  an  exaggeration  to  say  that  there 
was  not  a  woman  in  the  ballroom  to  compare 
with  her,  and  some  of  them  were  marvelonsly 
gowned  and  complexioned,  too.  She  over 
shadowed  them  not  only  by  sheer  beauty,  but 
by  exuberance  of  spirit.  And  they  followed 
her  with  hating  eyes  and  whispered  scandalous 
things  behind  their  fans  and  wondered  what 
had  possessed  the  Marchesa  to  invite  the  bold 
thing:  so  does  mediocrity  pay  homage  to 
beauty  and  genius.  As  for  the  men,  though 
madness  lay  that  way,  eagerly  as  of  old  they 
sought  it. 


MOONLIGHT  AND  A  PRINCE     161 

By  way  of  parenthesis:  Herr  Rosen 
marched  up  the  hill  and  down  again,  some 
thing  after  the  manner  of  a  certain  warrior 
king  celebrated  in  verse.  The  object  of  his 
visit  had  gone  to  the  ball  at  Cadenabbia.  At 
the  hotel  he  demanded  a  motor-boat.  There 
was  none  to  be  had.  In  a  furious  state  of 
mind  he  engaged  two  oarsmen  to  row  him 
across  the  lake. 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  when  Nora, 
suddenly  grown  weary  of  the  play,  full  of  bit 
terness  and  distaste,  hating  herself  and  every 
one  else  in  the  world,  stole  out  to  the  quay 
to  commune  with  the  moon,  she  saw  him  jump 
from  the  boat  to  the  landing,  scorning  the 
steps.  Instantly  she  drew  her  lace  mantle 
closely  about  her  face.  It  was  useless.  In 
the  man  the  hunter's  instinct  was  much  too 
keen. 

"  So  I  have  found  you !  " 

"  One  would  say  that  I  had  been  in  hid 
ing?  ''  coldly. 


i62     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  From  me,  always.  I  have  left  everything 
—  duty,  obligations  —  to  seek  you." 

"  From  any  other  man  that  might  be  a  com 
pliment." 

"  I  am  a  prince,"  he  said  proudly. 

She  faced  him  with  that  quick  resolution, 
that  swift  forming  of  purpose,  which  has  made 
the  Irish  so  difficult  in  argument  and  per 
suasion.  "Will  you  marry  me?  Will  you 
make  me  your  wife  legally?  Before  all  the 
world?  Will  you  surrender,  for  the  sake  of 
this  love  you  profess,  your  right  to  a  great  in 
heritance?  Will  you  risk  the  anger  and  the 
iron  hand  of  your  father  for  my  sake?" 

" Herr  Gott!  I  am  mad!"  He  covered 
his  eyes. 

'  That  expression  proves  that  your  High 
ness  is  sane  again.  Have  you  realized  the  an 
noyances,  the  embarrassments,  you  have  thrust 
upon  me  by  your  pursuit  ?  Have  you  not  read 
the  scandalous  innuendoes  in  the  newspapers? 
Your  Highness,  I  was  not  born  on  the  Con- 


MOONLIGHT  AND  A  PRINCE      163 

tinent,  so  I  look  upon  my  work  from  a  point 
of  view  not  common  to  those  of  your  caste. 
I  am  proud  of  it,  and  I  look  upon  it  with 
honor,  honor.  I  am  a  woman,  but  I  am  not 
wholly  defenseless.  There  was  a  time  when 
I  thought  I  might  number  among  my  friends 
a  prince;  but  you  have  made  that  impossible." 

"Come,"  he  said  hoarsely;  "let  us  go  and 
find  a  priest.  You  are  right.  I  love  you;  I 
will  give  up  everything,  everything !  " 

For  a  moment  she  was  dumb.  This  ab 
solute  surrender  appalled  her.  But  that  good 
fortune  which  had  ever  been  at  her  side 
stepped  into  the  breach.  And  as  she  saw  the 
tall  form  of  the  Barone  approach,  she  could 
have  thrown  her  arms  around  his  neck  in  pure 
gladness. 

"Oh,  Barone!"  she  called.  "Am  I  mak 
ing  you  miss  this  dance?  " 

"  It  does  not  matter,  Signorina."  The 
Barone  stared  keenly  at  the  erect  and  tense 
figure  at  the  prima  donna's  side. 


164     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  You  will  excuse  me,-  Herr  Rosen,"  said 
Nora,  as  she  laid  her  hand  upon  the  Barone's 
arm. 

Herr  Rosen  bowed  stiffly;  and  the  two  left 
him  standing  uncovered  in  the  moonlight. 

"  What  is  he  doing  here  ?  What  has  he 
been  saying  to  you  ?  "  the  Barone  demanded. 
Nora  withdrew  her  hand  from  his  arm. 
"  Pardon  me,"  said  he  contritely.  "  I  have  no 
right  to  ask  you  such  questions." 

It  was  not  long  after  midnight  when  the 
motor-boat  returned  to  its  abiding  place.  On 
the  way  over  conversation  lagged,  and  finally 
died  altogether.  Mrs.  Harrigan  fell  asleep 
against  Celeste's  shoulder,  and  the  musician 
never  deviated  her  gaze  from  the  silver  ripples 
which  flowed  out  diagonally  and  magically 
from  the  prow  of  the  boat.  Nora  watched  the 
stars  slowly  ascend  over  the  eastern  range  of 
mountains;  and  across  the  fire  of  his  in 
numerable  cigarettes  the  Barone  watched  her. 

As  the  boat  was  made  fast  to  the  landing 


MOONLIGHT  AND  A  PRINCE     165 

in  front  of  the  Grand  Hotel,  Celeste  observed 
a  man  in  evening  dress,  lounging  against  the 
rail  of  the  quay.  The  search-light  from  the 
customs-boat,  hunting  for  tobacco  smugglers, 
flashed  over  his  face.  She  could  not  repress 
the  little  gasp,  and  her  hand  tightened  upon 
Nora's  arm. 

"  What  is  it?  "  asked  Nora. 

"  Nothing.     I  thought  I  was  slipping." 


CHAPTER  IX 

COLONEL    CAXLEY-WEBSTER 

ABBOTT'S  studio  was  under  the  roof  of 
one  of  the  little  hotels  that  stand  tim 
orously  and  humbly,  yet  expectantly,  between 
the  imposing  cream-stucco  of  the  Grand  Hotel 
at  one  end  and  the  elaborate  pink-stucco  of 
the  Grande  Bretegne  at  the  other.  The  hob 
nailed  shoes  of  the  Teuton  (who  wears  his 
mountain  kit  all  the  way  from  Hamburg  to 
Palermo)  wore  up  and  down  the  stairs  all 
day;  and  the  racket  from  the  hucksters'  carts 
and  hotel  omnibuses,  arriving  and  departing 
from  the  steamboat  landing,  the  shouts  of  the 
begging  boatmen,  the  quarreling  of  the  chil 
dren  and  the  barking  of  unpedigreed  dogs, — 
these  noises  were  incessant  from  dawn  until 
sunset. 

166 


COLONEL  CAXLEY-WEBSTER      167 

The  artist  glared  down  from  his  square  win 
dow  at  the  ruffled  waters,  or  scowled  at  the 
fleeting  snows  on  the  mountains  over  the  way. 
He  passed  some  ten  or  twelve  minutes  in  this 
useless  occupation,  but  he  could  not  get  away 
from  the  bald  fact  that  he  had  acted  like  a 
petulant  child.  To  have  shown  his  hand  so 
openly,  simply  because  the  Barone  had  beaten 
him  in  the  race  for  the  motor-boat!  And 
Xora  would  understand  that  he  was  weak  and 
without  backbone.  Harrigan  himself  must 
have  reasoned  out  the  cause  for  such  asinine 
plays  as  he  had  executed  in  the  game  of 
checkers.  How  many  times  had  the  old  man 
called  out  to  him  to  wake  up  and  move?  In 
spirit  he  had  been  across  the  lake,  a  spirit 
in  Hades.  He  was  not  only  a  fool,  but  a  cow 
ard  likewise.  He  had  not  dared  to 

".     .     .     .     put  it  to  the  touch 
To  gain  or  lose  it  all." 

He  saw  it  coming:  before  long  he  and  that 
Italian  would  be  at  each  other's  throats. 


i68     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  Come  in ! "  he  called,  in  response  to  a 
sudden  thunder  on  the  door. 

The  door  opened  and  a  short,  energetic  old 
man,  purple-visaged  and  hawk-eyed,  came  in. 
"  Why  the  devil  don't  you  join  the  Trappist 
monks,  Abbott?  If  I  wasn't  tough  I  should 
have  died  of  apoplexy  on  the  second  landing." 

"  Good  morning,  Colonel ! "  Abbott 
laughed  and  rolled  out  the  patent  rocker  for 
his  guest.  "  What's  on  your  mind  this  morn 
ing?  I  can  give  you  one  without  ice." 

"  I'll  take  it  neat,  my  boy.  I'm  not  thirsty, 
I'm  faint.  These  Italian  architects;  they  call 
three  ladders  flights  of  stairs!  .  .  .  Ha! 
That's  Irish  whisky,  and  jolly  fine.  Want  you 
to  come  over  and  take  tea  this  afternoon.  I'm 
going  up  presently  to  see  the  Harrigans. 
Thought  I'd  go  around  and  do  the  thing  in 
formally.  Taken  a  fancy  to  the  old  chap. 
He's  a  little  bit  of  all  right.  I'm  no  older 
than  he  is,  but  look  at  the  difference !  Whisky 
and  soda,  that's  the  racket.  Not  by  the  tub- 


COLONEL  CAXLEY-WEBSTER     169 

ful;  just  an  ordinary  half  dozen  a  day,  and 
a  dem  climate  thrown  in." 

"  Difference  in  training." 

"  Rot !  It's  the  sized  hat  a  man  wears.  I'd 
give  fifty  guineas  to  see  the  old  fellow  in  ac 
tion.  But,  I  say;  recall  the  argument  we  had 
before  you  went  to  Paris?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  I  win.  Saw  him  bang  across  the 
street  this  morning." 

Abbott  muttered  something. 
."What  was  that?" 

"  Nothing." 

"  Sounded  like  '  dem  it '  to  me." 

"  Maybe  it  did." 

"  Heard  about  him  in  Paris  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  The  old  boy  had  transferred  his  regiment 
to  a  lonesome  post  in  the  North  to  cool  his 
blood.  The  youngster  took  the  next  train  to 
Paris.  He  was  there  incognito  for  two  weeks 
before  they  found  him  and  bundled  him  back. 


1 70     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

Of  course,  every  one  knows  that  he  is  but  a 
crazy  lad  who's  had  too  much  freedom." 
The  colonel  emptied  his  glass.  "  I  feel  dem 
sorry  for  Nora.  She's  the  right  sort.  But  a 
woman  can't  take  a  man  by  the  scruff  of  his 
neck  and  chuck  him." 

"  But  I  can,"  declared  Abbott  savagely. 

"Tut,  tut!  He'd  eat  you  alive.  Besides, 
you  will  find  him  too  clever  to  give  you  an  open 
ing.  But  he'll  bear  watching.  He's  capable 
of  putting  her  on  a  train  and  running  away 
with  her.  Between  you  and  me,  I  don't  blame 
him.  What's  the  matter  with  sicking  the 
Barone  on  him?  He's  the  best  man  in  South 
ern  Italy  with  foils  and  broadswords.  Sic 
'em,  Towser ;  sic  'em ! "  The  old  fire-eater 
chuckled. 

The  subject  was  extremely  distasteful  to  the 
artist.  The  colonel,  a  rough  soldier,  whose 
diplomacy  had  never  risen  above  the  heights 
of  clubbing  a  recalcitrant  Hill  man  into  sub 
mission,  baldly  inferred  that  he  understood  the 


COLONEL  CAXLEY-WEBSTER      171 

artist's  interest  in  the  rose  of  the  Harrigan 
family.  He  would  have  liked  to  talk  more  in 
regard  to  the  interloper,  but  it  would  have  been 
sheer  folly.  The  colonel,  in  his  blundering 
way,  would  have  brought  up  the  subject  again 
at  tea-time  and  put  everybody  on  edge.  He 
had,  unfortunately  for  his  friends,  a  reputa 
tion  other  than  that  of  a  soldier:  he  posed  as 
a  peacemaker.  He  saw  trouble  where  none 
existed,  and  the  way  he  patched  up  imaginary 
quarrels  would  have  strained  the  patience  of 
Job.  Still,  every  one  loved  him,  though  they 
lived  in  mortal  fear  of  him.  So  Abbott  came 
about  quickly  and  sailed  against  the  wind. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  said,  "  I  wish  you  would 
let  me  sketch  that  servant  of  yours.  He's  got  a 
profile  like  a  medallion.  Where  did  you  pick 
him  up  ?  " 

"In  the  Hills.  He's  a  Sikh,  and  a  first- 
class  fighting  man.  Didn't  know  that  you 
went  for  faces." 

"  Not  as  a  usual  thing.     Just  want  it  for  my 


172     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

own  use.  How  does  he  keep  his  beard  combed 
that  way?" 

"  I've  never  bothered  myself  about  the  curl 
of  his  whiskers.  Are  my  clothes  laid  out? 
Luggage  attended  to?  Guns  shipshape? 
That's  enough  for  me.  Some  day  you  have 
got  to  go  out  there  with  me." 

"  Never  shot  a  gun  in  all  my  life.  I  don't 
know  which  end  to  hold  at  my  shoulder." 

"  Teach  you  quick  enough.  Every  man's  a 
born  hunter.  Rao  will  have  tigers  eating  out 
of  your  hand.  He's  a  marvel;  saved  my  hide 
more  than  once.  Funny  thing;  you  can't 
show  'em  that  you're  grateful.  Lose  caste  if 
you  do.  I  rather  miss  it.  Get  the  East  in 
your  blood  and  you'll  never  get  it  out.  Fasci 
nating!  But  my  liver  turned  over  once  too 
many  times.  Ha!  Some  one  coming  up  to 
buy  a  picture." 

The  step  outside  was  firm  and  unwearied 
by  the  climb.  The  door  opened  unceremoni 
ously,  and  Courtlandt  came  in.  He  stared 


COLONEL  CAXLEY-WEBSTER      173 

at  the  colonel  and  the  colonel  returned  the 
stare. 

"  Caxley-Webster !  Well,  I  say,  this  globe 
goes  on  shrinking  every  day !  "  cried  Court- 
landt. 

The  two  pumped  hands  energetically,  sizing 
each  other  up  critically.  Then  they  sat  down 
and  shot  questions,  while  Abbott  looked  on 
bewildered.  Elephants  and  tigers  and  chittahs 
and  wild  boar  and  quail-running  and  strange 
guttural  names;  weltering  nights  in  the  jun 
gles,  freezing  mornings  in  the  Hills;  stupen 
dous  card  games;  and  what  had  become  of 
so-and-so,  who  always  drank  his  whisky  neat; 
and  what's-his-name,  who  invented  cures  for 
snake  bites! 

Abbott  deliberately  pushed  over  an  oak 
bench.  "  Am  I  host  here  or  not?  " 

"  Abby,  old  man,  how  are  you?"  said 
Courtlandt,  smiling  warmly  and  holding  out 
his  hand.  "  My  apologies ;  but  the  colonel 
and  I  never  expected  to  see  each  other  again. 


174     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

And  I  find  him  talking  with  you  up  here  under 
this  roof.  It's  marvelous." 

"  It's  a  wonder  you  wouldn't  drop  a  fellow 
a  line,"  said  Abbott,  in  a  faultfinding  tone,  as 
he  righted  the  bench.  "  When  did  you 
come  ?  " 

"  Last  night.     Came  up  from  Como." 

"  Going  to  stay  long  ?  " 

"  That  depends.  I  am  really  on  my  way  to 
Zermatt.  I've  a  hankering  to  have  another  try 
at  the  Matterhorn." 

"  Think  of  that !  "  exclaimed  the  colonel. 
"  He  says  another  try." 

"  You  came  a  roundabout  way,"  was  the 
artist's  comment. 

"  Oh,  that's  because  I  left  Paris  for  Brescia. 
They  had  some  good  flights  there.  Wonder 
ful  year!  They  cross  the  Channel  in  an  air 
ship  and  discover  the  North  Pole." 

"Pah!  Neither  will  be  of  any  use  to  hu 
manity;  merely  a  fine  sporting  proposition." 


COLONEL  CAXLEY-WEBSTER      175 

The  colonel  dug  into  his  pocket  for  his  pipe. 
"  But  what  do  you  think  of  Germany?  " 

"  Fine  country,"  answered  Courtlandt,  ris 
ing  and  going  to  a  window ;  "  fine  people,  too. 
Why?" 

"  Do  you  —  er  —  think  they  could  whip 
us  ?  " 

"  On  land,  yes." 

"  The  devil !  " 

"  On  water,  no." 

"  Thanks.  In  other  words,  you  believe  our 
chances  equal  ?  " 

"  So  equal  that  all  this  war-scare  is  piffle. 
But  I  rather  like  to  see  you  English  get  up  in 
the  air  occasionally.  It  will  do  you  good. 
You've  an  idea  because  you  walloped  Napo 
leon  that  you're  the  same  race  you  were  then, 
and  you  are  not.  The  English-speaking  races, 
as  the  first  soldiers,  have  ceased  to  be." 

"  Well,  I  be  dem !  "  gasped  the  colonel. 

"  It's   the  truth.     Take  the   American :  he 


176     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

thinks  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  but  money. 
Take  the  Britisher :  to  him  caste  is  everything. 
Take  the  money  out  of  one  man's  mind  and 
the  importance  of  being  well-born  out  of  the 
other  .  .  ."  He  turned  from  the  window 

and  smiled  at  the  artist  and  the  empurpling 
Anglo-Indian. 

"Abbott,"  growled  the  soldier,  "that  man 
will  some  day  drive  me  amuck.  What  do  you 
think?  One  night,  on  a  tiger  hunt,  he  got  me 
into  an  argument  like  this.  A  brute  of  a  beast 
jumped  into  the  middle  of  it.  Courtlandt 
shot  him  on  the  second  bound,  and  turned  to 
me  with  — '  Well,  as  I  was  saying ! '  I  don't 
know  to  this  day  whether  it  was  nerve  or  what 
you  Americans  call  gall." 

"  Divided  by  two,"  grinned  Abbott. 

"Ha,  I  see;  half  nerve  and  half  gall.  I'll 
remember  that.  But  we  were  talking  of  air 
ships." 

"  I  was,"  retorted  Courtlandt.  "  You  were 
the  man  who  started  the  powwow."  He 


COLONEL  CAXLEY-WEBSTER     177 

looked  down  into  the  street  with  sudden  inter 
est.  "Who  is  that?" 

The  colonel  and  Abbott  hurried  across  the 
room. 

"What  did  I  say,  Abbott?  I  told  you  I 
saw  him.  He's  crazy;  fact.  Thinks  he  can 
travel  around  incognito  when  there  isn't  a 
magazine  on  earth  that  hasn't  printed  his 
picture." 

"  Well,  why  shouldn't  he  travel  around  if  he 
wants  to  ?  "  asked  Courtlandt  coolly. 

The  colonel  nudged  the  artist. 

"  There  happens  to  be  an  attraction  in  Bel- 
laggio,"  said  Abbott  irritably. 

"  The  moth  and  the  candle,"  supplemented 
the  colonel,  peering  over  Courtlandt's  shoul 
der.  "  He's  well  set  up,"  grudgingly  admitted 
the  old  fellow. 

"  The  moth  and  the  candle,"  mused  Court 
landt.  "  That  will  be  Nora  Harrigan.  How 
long  has  this  infatuation  been  going  on  ?  " 

"  Year  and  a  half." 


1 78     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"And  the  other  side?" 

"  There  isn't  any  other  side,"  exploded  the 
artist.  "  She's  worried  to  death.  Not  a  day 
passes  but  some  scurrilous  penny-a-liner 
springs  some  yarn,  some  beastly  innuendo. 
She's  been  dodging  the  fellow  for  months. 
In  Paris  last  year  she  couldn't  move  without 
running  into  him.  This  year  she  changed  her 
apartment,  and  gave  orders  at  the  Opera  to 
refuse  her  address  to  all  who  asked  for  it. 
Consequently  she  had  some  peace.  I  don't 
know  why  it  is,  but  a  woman  in  public  life 
seems  to  be  a  target." 

1  The  penalty  of  beauty,  Abby.  Homely 
women  seldom  are  annoyed,  unless  they  be 
come  suffragists."  The  colonel  poured  forth 
a  dense  cloud  of  smoke. 

"  What  brand  is  that,  Colonel  ? "  asked 
Courtlandt,  choking. 

The  colonel  generously  produced  his  pouch. 

"  No,  no !  I  was  about  to  observe  that  it 
isn't  ambrosia." 


COLONEL  CAXLEY-WEBSTER      179 

"  Rotter !  "  The  soldier  dug  the  offender  in 
the  ribs.  "  I  am  going  to  have  the  Harrigans 
over  for  tea  this  afternoon.  Come  over! 
You'll  like  the  family.  The  girl  is  charming; 
and  the  father  is  a  sportsman  to  the  backbone. 
Some  silly  fools  laugh  behind  his  back,  but 
never  before  his  face.  And  my  word,  I  know 
rafts  of  gentlemen  who  are  not  fit  to  stand  in 
his  shoes." 

"  I  should  like  to  meet  Mr.  Harrigan." 
Courtlandt  returned  his  gaze  to  the  window 
once  more. 

"And  his  daughter?"  said  Abbott,  curi 
ously. 

"Oh,  surely!" 

"  I  may  count  on  you,  then  ?  "  The  colonel 
stowed  away  the  offending  brier.  "  And  you 
can  stay  to  dinner." 

"  I'll  take  the  dinner  end  of  the  invitation," 
was  the  reply.  "  I've  got  to  go  over  to 
Menaggio  to  see  about  some  papers  to  be 
signed.  If  I  can  make  the  three  o'clock  boat 


i8o     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

in  returning,  you'll  see  me  at  tea.  Dinner  at 
all  events.  I'm  off." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  stand  there  and  tell  me 
that  you  have  important  business?"  jeered 
Abbott. 

"  My  boy,  the  reason  I'm  on  trains  and 
boats,  year  in  and  year  out,  is  in  the  vain 
endeavor  to  escape  important  business.  Now 
and  then  I  am  rounded  up.  Were  you  ever 
hunted  by  money  ?  "  humorously. 

"  No,"  answered  the  Englishman  sadly. 
"  But  I  know  one  thing :  I'd  throw  the  race 
at  the  starting-post.  Millions,  Abbott,  and  to 
be  obliged  to  run  away  from  them!  If  the 
deserts  hadn't  dried  up  all  my  tears,  I  should 
weep.  Why  don't  you  hire  a  private  secretary 
to  handle  your  affairs  ?  " 

"And  have  him  following  at  my  heels?" 
Courtlandt  gazed  at  his  lean  brown  hands. 
"  When  these  begin  to  shake,  I'll  do  so.  Well, 
I  shall  see  you  both  at  dinner,  whatever  hap 
pens." 


COLONEL  CAXLEY-WEBSTER      181 

"  That's  Courtlandt,"  said  Abbott,  when  his 
friend  was  gone.  "  You  think  he's  in  Singa 
pore,  the  door  opens  and  in  he  walks;  never 
any  letter  or  announcement.  He  arrives, 
that's  all." 

"  Strikes  me,"  returned  the  other,  polish 
ing  his  glass,  holding  it  up  to  the  light,  and 
then  screwing  it  into  his  eye ;  "  strikes  me,  he 
wasn't  overanxious  to  have  that  dish  of  tea. 
Afraid  of  women?  " 

"  Afraid  of  women!  Why,  man,  he  backed 
two  musical  shows  in  the  States  a  few  years 
ago." 

"  Musical  comedies  ?  "  The  glass  dropped 
from  the  colonel's  eye.  "  That's  going  tigers 
one  better.  Forty  women,  all  waiting  to  be 
stars,  and  solemn  Courtlandt  wandering 
among  them  as  the  god  of  amity!  Afraid  of 
them!  Of  course  he  is.  Who  wouldn't  be, 
after  such  an  experience?"  The  colonel 
laughed.  "  Never  had  any  serious  affair?  " 

"  Never  heard  of   one.     There  was   some 


182     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

tommy-rot  about  a  Mahommedan  princess  in 
the  newspapers ;  but  I  knew  there  was  no  truth 
in  that.  Queer  fellow !  He  wouldn't  take  the 
trouble  to  deny  it" 

"  Never  showed  any  signs  of  being  a 
woman-hater?" 

"  No,  not  the  least  in  the  world.  But  to 
shy  at  meeting  Nora  Harrigan  .  .  ." 

".There  you  have  it;  the  privilege  of  the 
gods.  Perhaps  he  really  has  business  in 
Menaggio.  What'll  we  do  with  the  other 
beggar?" 

"  Knock  his  head  off,  if  he  bothers  her." 

"  Better  turn  the  job  over  to  Courtlandt, 
then.  You're  in  the  light-weight  class,  and 
Courtlandt  is  the  best  amateur  for  his  weight 
I  ever  saw." 

"What,  boxes?" 

"  A  tough  'un.  I  had  a  corporal  who  beat 
any  one  in  Northern  India.  Conrtlandt  put 
on  the  gloves  with  him  and  had  him  begging  in 
the  third  round." 


COLONEL  CAXLEY-WEBSTER      183 

"  I  never  knew  that  before.  He's  as  full 
of  surprises  as  a  rummage  bag." 

Courtlandt  walked  up  the  street  leisurely, 
idly  pausing  now  and  then  before  the  shop- 
windows.  Apparently  he  had  neither  object 
nor  destination;  yet  his  mind  was  busy,  so 
busy  in  fact  that  he  looked  at  the  various 
curios  without  truly  seeing  them  at  all.  A 
delicate  situation,  which  needed  the  lightest 
handling,  confronted  him.  He  must  wait  for 
an  overt  act,  then  he  might  proceed  as  he 
pleased.  How  really  helpless  he  was!  He 
could  not  force  her  hand  because  she  held  all 
the  cards  and  he  none.  Yet  he  was  deter 
mined  this  time  to  play  the  game  to  the  end, 
even  if  the  task  was  equal  to  all  those  of 
Hercules  rolled  into  one,  and  none  of  the  gods 
on  his  side. 

At  the  hotel  he  asked  for  his  mail,  and  was 
given  a  formidable  packet  which,  with  a  sigh 
of  discontent,  he  slipped  into  a  pocket,  strolled 
out  into  the  garden  by  the  water,  and  sat  down 


184     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

to  read.  To  his  surprise  there  was  a  note, 
without  stamp  or  postmark.  He  opened  it, 
mildly  curious  to  learn  who  it  was  that  had 
discovered  his  presence  in  Bellaggio  so  quickly. 
The  envelope  contained  nothing  more  than  a 
neatly  folded  bank-note  for  one  hundred 
francs.  He  eyed  it  stupidly.  What  might 
this  mean?  He  unfolded  it  and  smoothed  it 
out  across  his  knee,  and  the  haze  of  puzzlement 
drifted  away.  Three  bars  from  La  Boheme. 
He  laughed.  So  the  little  lady  of  the  Tav- 
erne  Royale  was  in  Bellaggio! 


CHAPTER  X 

MARGUERITES   AND   EMERALDS 

FROM  where  he  sat  Courtlandt  could  see 
down  the  main  thoroughfare  of  the  pretty 
village.  There  were  other  streets,  to  be  sure, 
but  courtesy  and  good  nature  alone  permitted 
this  misapplication  of  title:  they  were  merely 
a  series  of  torturous  enervating  stairways  of 
stone,  up  and  down  which  noisy  wooden 
sandals  clattered  all  the  day  long.  Over  the 
entrances  to  the  shops  the  proprietors  were 
dropping  the  white  and  brown  awnings  for  the 
day.  Very  few  people  shopped  after  lunch 
eon.  There  were  pleasanter  pastimes,  even 
for  the  women,  contradictory  as  this  may 
seem.  By  eleven  o'clock  Courtlandt  had 
finished  the  reading  of  his  mail,  and  was  now 
ready  to  hunt  for  the  little  lady  of  the  Taverne 
185 


i86     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

Royale.  It  was  necessary  to  find  her.  The 
whereabouts  of  Flora  Desimone  was  of  vital 
importance.  If  she  had  not  yet  arrived,  the 
presence  of  her  friend  presaged  her  ultimate 
arrival.  The  duke  was  a  negligible  quantity. 
It  would  have  surprised  Courtlandt  could  he 
have  foreseen  the  drawing  together  of  the  ends 
of  the  circle  and  the  relative  concernment  of 
the  duke  in  knotting  those  ends.  The  labors 
of  Hercules  had  never  entailed  the  subjuga 
tion  of  two  temperamental  women. 

He  rose  and  proceeded  on  his  quest.  Be 
fore  the  photographer's  shop  he  saw  a  dachel 
wrath  fully  challenging  a  cat  on  the  balcony 
of  the  adjoining  building.  The  cat  knew, 
and  so  did  the  puppy,  that  it  was  all  bun 
combe  on  the  puppy's  part:  the  usual  Euro 
pean  war-scare,  in  which  one  of  the  belligerent 
parties  refused  to  come  down  because  it 
wouldn't  have  been  worth  while,  there  being 
the  usual  Powers  ready  to  intervene.  Court 
landt  did  not  bother  about  the  cat;  the  puppy 


MARGUERITES  AND  EMERALDS     187 

claimed  his  attention.  He  was  very  fond  of 
dogs.  So  he  reached  down  suddenly  and  put 
an  end  to  the  sharp  challenge.  The  dachel 
struggled  valiantly,  for  this  breed  of  dog  does 
not  make  friends  easily. 

"  I  say,  you  little  Dutchman,  what's  the 
row?  I'm  not  going  to  hurt  you.  Funny 
little  codger!  To  whom  do  you  belong?" 
He  turned  the  collar  around,  read  the  inscrip 
tion,  and  gently  put  the  puppy  on  the  ground. 

Nora  Harrigan! 

His  immediate  impulse  was  to  walk  on,  but 
somehow  this  impulse  refused  to  act  on  his 
sense  of  locomotion.  He  waited,  dully  won 
dering  what  was  going  to  happen  when  she 
came  out.  He  had  left  her  room  that  night 
in  Paris,  vowing  that  he  would  never  intrude 
on  her  again.  With  the  recollection  of  that 
bullet  whizzing  past  his  ear,  he  had  been  con 
vinced  that  the  play  was  done.  True,  she  had 
testified  that  it  had  been  accidental,  but  never 
would  he  forget  the  look  in  her  eyes.  It  was 


i88     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

not  pleasant  to  remember.  And  still,  as  the 
needle  is  drawn  by  the  magnet,  here  he  was, 
in  Bellaggio.  He  cursed  his  weakness.  From 
Brescia  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  go  directly 
to  Berlin.  Before  he  realized  how  useless  it 
was  to  battle  against  these  invisible  forces,  he 
was  in  Milan,  booking  for  Como.  At  Como 
he  had  remained  a  week  (the  dullest  week  he 
had  ever  known)  ;  at  the  Villa  d'Este  three 
days;  at  Cadenabbia  one  day.  It  had  all  the 
characteristics  of  a  tug-of-war,  and  irresistibly 
he  was  drawn  over  the  line.  The  night  before 
he  had  taken  the  evening  boat  across  the  lake. 
And  Herr  Rosen  had  been  his  fellow-pas 
senger!  The  goddess  of  chance  threw  whim 
sical  coils  aroitnd  her  victims.  To  find  him 
self  shoulder  to  shoulder,  as  it  were,  with 
this  man  who,  perhaps  more  than  all  other 
incentives,  had  urged  him  to  return  again  to 
civilization;  this  man  who  had  aroused  in  his 
heart  a  sentiment  that  hitherto  he  had 


MARGUERITES  AND  EMERALDS     189 

not  believed  existed, —  jealousy.  .  .  .  Ah, 
voices !  He  stepped  aside  quickly. 

"  Fritz,  Fritz ;  where  are  you  ?  " 

And  a  moment  later  she  came  out,  followed 
by  her  mother  .  .  .  and  the  little  lady  of 
the  Taverne  Royale.  Did  Nora  see  him?  It 
was  impossible  to  tell.  She  simply  stooped 
and  gathered  up  the  puppy,  who  struggled  de 
terminedly  to  lick  her  face.  Courtlandt  lifted 
his  hat.  It  was  in  nowise  offered  as  an  act 
of  recognition;  it  was  merely  the  mechanical 
courtesy  that  a  man  generally  pays  to  any 
woman  in  whose  path  he  chances  to  be  for  the 
breath  of  a  second.  The  three  women  in  im 
maculate  white,  hatless,  but  with  sunshades, 
passed  on  down  the  street. 

Courtlandt  went  into  the  shop,  rather 
blindly.  He  stared  at  the  shelves  of  paper- 
covered  novels  and  post-cards,  and  when  the 
polite  proprietor  offered  him  a  dozen  of  the 
latter,  he  accepted  them  without  comment. 


190      THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

Indeed,  he  put  them  into  a  pocket  and  turned 
to  go  out. 

"  Pardon,  sir ;  those  are  one  franc  the 
dozen." 

"  Ah,  yes."  Courtlandt  pulled  out  some 
silver.  It  was  going  to  be  terribly  difficult, 
and  his  heart  was  heavy  with  evil  presages. 
He  had  seen  Celeste.  He  understood  the 
amusing  if  mysterious  comedy  now.  Nora 
had  recognized  him  and  had  sent  her  friend 
to  follow  him  and  learn  where  he  went.  And 
he,  poor  fool  of  a  blunderer,  with  the  best 
intentions  in  the  world,  he  had  gone  at  once 
to  the  Calabrian's  apartment!  It  was  damna- 
.ble  of  fate.  He  had  righted  nothing.  In 
truth,  he  was  deeper  than  ever  in  the  quick 
sands  of  misunderstanding.  He  shut  his 
teeth  with  a  click.  How  neatly  she  had  way 
laid  and  trapped  him ! 

"  Those  are  from  Lucerne,  sir." 

"What?"  bewildered. 


MARGUERITES  AND  EMERALDS     191 

'  Those  wood-carvings  which  you  are 
touching  with  your  cane,  sir." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Courtlandt,  apolo 
getically,  and  gained  the  open.  He  threw  a 
quick  glance  down  the  street.  There  they 
were.  He  proceeded  in  the  opposite  direc 
tion,  toward  his  hotel.  Tea  at  the  colonel's? 
Scarcely.  He  would  go  to  Menaggio  with  the 
hotel  motor-boat  and  return  so  late  that  he 
would  arrive  only  in  time  for  dinner.  He  was 
not  going  to  meet  the  enemy  over  tea-cups,  at 
least,  not  under  the  soldier's  tactless  super 
vision.  He  must  find  a  smoother  way,  calcu 
lated,  under  the  rose,  but  seemingly  accidental. 
It  was  something  to  ponder  over. 

"Nora,  who  was  that?"  asked  -Mrs.  Har- 
rigan. 

"  Who  was  who  ?  "  countered  Nora,  snug 
gling  the  wriggling  dachel  under  her  arm  and 
throwing  the  sunshade  across  her  shoulder. 

"  That  fine-looking  young  man  who  stood 


192 

by  the  door  as  we  passed  out.  He  raised  his 
hat." 

"  Oh,  bother !     I  was  looking  at  Fritz." 

Celeste  searched  her  face  keenly,  but  Nora 
looked  on  ahead  serenely;  not  a  quiver  of  an 
eyelid,  not  the  slightest  change  in  color  or  ex 
pression. 

"  She  did  not  see  him ! "  thought  the  musi 
cian,  curiously  stirred.  She  knew  her  friend 
tolerably  well.  It  would  have  been  impossible 
for  her  to  have  seen  that  man  and  not  to  have 
given  evidence  of  the  fact. 

In  short,  Nora  had  spoken  truthfully.  She 
had  seen  a  man  dressed  in  white  flannels  and 
canvas  shoes,  but  her  eyes  had  not  traveled  so 
far  as  his  face. 

"  Mother,  we  must  have  some  of  those  silk 
blankets.  They're  so  comfy  to  lie  on." 

'  You  never  see  anything  except  when  you 
want  to,"  complained  Mrs.  Harrigan. 

"  It  saves  a  deal  of  trouble.  I  don't  want 
to  go  to  the  colonel's  this  afternoon.  He  al- 


MARGUERITES  AND  EMERALDS     193 

ways  has  some  frump  to  pour  tea  and  ask  fool 
questions." 

"  The  frump,  as  you  call  her,  is  usually  a 
countess  or  a  duchess,"  with  asperity. 

"  Fiddlesticks !  Nobility  makes  a  specialty 
of  frumps;  it  is  one  of  the  species  of  the  caste. 
That's  why  I  shall  never  marry  a  title.  I  wish 
neither  to  visit  nor  to  entertain  frumps. 
Frump, —  the  word  calls  up  the  exact  picture; 
frump  and  fatuity.  Oh,  I'll  go,  but  I'd  rather 
stay  on  my  balcony  and  read  a  good  book." 

"  My  dear,"  patiently,  "  the  colonel  is  one 
of  the  social  laws  on  Como.  His  sister  is  the 
wife  of  an  earl.  You  must  not  offend  him. 
His  Sundays  are  the  most  exclusive  on  the 
lake." 

"  The  word  exclusive  should  be  properly  ap 
plied  to  those  in  jail.  The  social  ladder,  the 
social  ladder !  Don't  you  know,  mother  mine, 
that  every  rung  is  sawn  by  envy  and  greed, 
and  that  those  who  climb  highest  fall  far 
thest?" 


194     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  You  are  quoting  the  padre." 

"  The  padre  could  give  lessons  in  kindness 
and  shrewdness  to  any  other  man  I  know.  If 
he  hadn't  chosen  the  gown  he  would  have  been 
a  poet.  I  love  the  padre,  with  his  snow-white 
hair  and  his  withered  leathery  face.  He  was 
with  the  old  king  all  through  the  freeing  of 
Italy." 

"  And  had  a  fine  time  explaining  to  the  Vati 
can,"  sniffed  the  mother. 

"  Some  day  I  am  going  to  confess  to  him." 

"  Confess  what?  "  asked  Celeste. 

"  That  I  have  wished  the  Calabrian's  voice 
would  fail  her  some  night  in  Carmen;  that 
I  am  wearing  shoes  a  size  too  small  for  me; 
that  I  should  like  to  be  rich  without  labor ;  that 
I  am  sometimes  ashamed  of  my  calling;  that  I 
should  have  liked  to  see  father  win  a  prize 
fight;  oh,  and  a  thousand  other  horrid,  hateful 
things." 

"  I  wish  to  gracious  that  you  would  fall 
violently  in  love," 


MARGUERITES  AND  EMERALDS     195 

"  Spiteful !  There  are  those  lovely  lace  col 
lars;  come  on." 

"  You  are  hopeless,"  was  the  mother's  con 
viction. 

"  In  some  things,  yes,"  gravely. 

"  Some  day,"  said  Celeste,  who  was  a  privi 
leged  person  in  the  Harrigan  family,  "  some 
day  I  am  going  to  teach  you  two  how  to  play 
at  foils.  It  would  be  splendid.  And  then  you 
could  always  settle  your  differences  with 
bouts." 

"  Better  than  that,"  retorted  Nora.  "  I'll 
ask  father  to  lend  us  his  old  set  of  gloves.  He 
carries  them  around  as  if  they  were  a  fetish. 
I  believe  they're  in  the  bottom  of  one  of  my 
steamer  trunks." 

"  Nora !  "  Mrs.  Harrigan  was  not  pleased 
with  this  jest.  Any  reference  to  the  past  was 
distasteful  to  her  ears.  She,  too,  went  regu 
larly  to  confession,  but  up  to  the  present  time 
had  omitted  the  sin  of  being  ashamed  of  her 
former  poverty  and  environment.  She  had 


196     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

taken  it  for  granted  that  upon  her  shoulders 
rested  the  future  good  fortune  of  the  Harri- 
gans.  They  had  money ;  all  that  was  required 
was  social  recognition.  She  found  it  a  battle 
within  a  battle.  The  good-natured  reluctance 
of  her  husband  and  the  careless  indifference  of 
her  daughter  were  as  hard  to  combat  as  the 
icy  aloofness  of  those  stars  into  whose  orbit 
she  was  pluckily  striving  to  steer  the  family 
bark.  It  never  entered  her  scheming  head  that 
the  reluctance  of  the  father  and  the  indiffer 
ence  of  the  daughter  were  the  very  conditions 
that  drew  society  nearward,  for  the  simple 
novelty  of  finding  two  persons  who  did  not 
care  in  the  least  whether  they  were  recognized 
or  not. 

The  trio  invaded  the  lace  shop,  and  Nora 
and  her  mother  agreed  to  bury  the  war- 
hatchet  in  their  mutual  love  of  Venetian  and 
Florentine  fineries.  Celeste  pretended  to  be 
interested,  but  in  truth  she  was  endeavoring 
to  piece  together  the  few  facts  she  had  been 


MARGUERITES  AND  EMERALDS     197 

able  to  extract  from  the  rubbish  of  conjecture. 
Courtlandt  and  Nora  had  met  somewhere  be 
fore  the  beginning  of  her  own  intimacy  with 
•the  singer.  They  certainly  must  have  formed 
an  extraordinary  friendship,  for  Nora's  sub 
sequent  vindictiveness  could  not  possibly  have 
arisen  out  of  the  ruins  of  an  indifferent  ac 
quaintance.  Nora  could  not  be  moved  from 
the  belief  that  Courtlandt  had  abducted  her; 
but  Celeste  was  now  positive  that  he  had  had 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  He  did  not  impress 
her  as  a  man  who  would  abduct  a  woman,  hold 
her  prisoner  for  five  days,  and  then  liberate 
her  without  coming  near  her  to  press  his  van 
tage,  rightly  or  wrongly.  He  was  too  strong 
a  personage.  He  was  here  in  Bellaggio,  and 
attached  to  that  could  be  but  one  significance. 
Why,  then,  had  he  not  spoken  at  the  pho 
tographer's?  Perhaps  she  herself  had  been 
sufficient  reason  for  his  dumbness.  He  had 
recognized  her,  and  the  espionage  of  the  night 
in  Paris  was  no  longer  a  mystery.  Nora  had 


198      THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

sent  her  to  follow  him;  why  then  all  this  bitter 
ness,  since  she  had  not  been  told  where  he  had 
gone?  Had  Nora  forgotten  to  inquire?  It 
was  possible  that,  in  view  of  the  startling 
events  which  had  followed,  the  matter  had 
slipped  entirely  from  Nora's  mind.  Many  a 
time  she  had  resorted  to  that  subtle  guile 
known  only  of  woman  to  trap  the  singer.  But 
Nora  never  stumbled,  and  her  smile  was  as 
firm  a  barrier  to  her  thoughts,  her  secrets,  as 
a  stone  wall  would  have  been. 

Celeste  had  known  about  Herr  Rosen's  in 
fatuation.  Aside  from  that  which  concerned 
this  stranger,  Nora  had  withheld  no  real  secret 
from  her.  Herr  Rosen  had  been  given  his 
conge,  but  that  did  not  prevent  him  from  send 
ing  fabulous  baskets  of  flowers  and  gems,  all 
of  which  were  calmly  returned  without  com 
ment.  Whenever  a  jewel  found  its  way  into 
a  bouquet  of  flowers  from  an  unknown,  Nora 
would  promptly  convert  it  into  money  and  give 
the  proceeds  to  some  charity.  It  afforded  the 


MARGUERITES  AND  EMERALDS     199 

singer  no  small  amusement  to  show  her  scorn 
in  this  fashion.  Yes,  there  was  one  other 
little  mystery  which  she  did  not  confide  to  her 
friends.  Once  a  month,  wherever  she  chanced 
to  be  singing,  there  arrived  a  simple  bouquet 
of  marguerites,  in  the  heart  of  which  they 
would  invariably  find  an  uncut  emerald. 
Nora  never  disposed  of  these  emeralds.  The 
flowers  she  would  leave  in  her  dressing-room; 
the  emerald  would  disappear.  Was  there 
some  one  else? 

Mrs.  Harrigan  took  the  omnibus  up  to  the 
villa.  It  was  generally  too  much  of  a  climb 
for  her.  Nora  and  Celeste  preferred  to  walk. 

"  What  am  I  going  to  do,  Celeste  ?  He  is 
here,  and  over  at  Cadenabbia  last  night  I  had 
a  terrible  scene  with  him.  In  heaven's  name, 
why  can't  they  let  me  be  ?  " 

"Herr  Rosen?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Why  not  speak  to  your  father?  " 

"  And  have  a  fisticuff  which  would  appear 


200     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

in  every  newspaper  in  the  world?  No,  thank 
you.  There  is  enough  scandalous  stuff  being 
printed  as  it  is,  and  I  am  helpless  to  prevent  it." 

As  the  climb  starts  off  stiffly,  there  wasn't 
much  inclination  in  either  to  talk.  Celeste  had 
come  to  one  decision,  and  that  was  that  Nora 
should  find  out  Courtlandt's  presence  here  in 
Bellaggio  herself.  When  they  arrived  at  the 
villa  gates,  Celeste  offered  a  suggestion. 

"  You  could  easily  stop  all  this  rumor  and 
annoyance." 

"  And,  pray,  how  ?  " 

"  Marry." 

"  I  prefer  the  rumor  and  annoyance.  I 
hate  men.  Most  of  them  are  beasts." 

"  You  are  prejudiced." 

If  Celeste  expected  Nora  to  reply  that  she 
had  reason,  she  was  disappointed.  Nora 
quickened  her  pace,  that  was  all. 

At  luncheon  Harrigan  innocently  threw  a 
bomb  into  camp  by  inquiring :  "  Say,  Nora, 
who's  this  chump  Herr  Rosen?  He  was  up 


MARGUERITES  AND  EMERALDS     201 

here  last  night  and  again  this  morning.  I  was 
going  to  offer  him  the  cot  on  the  balcony,  but 
I  thought  I'd  consult  you  first." 

"  Herr  Rosen !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Harrigan, 
a  flutter  in  her  throat.  "  Why,  that's  .  .  ." 

"  A  charming  young  man  who  wishes  me  to 
sign  a  contract  to  sing  to  him  in  perpetuity," 
interrupted  Nora,  pressing  her  mother's  foot 
warningly. 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  marry  him?  "  laughed 
Harrigan.  "  There's  worse  things  than  frank 
furters  and  sauerkraut." 

"  Not  that  I  can  think  of  just  now/'  returned 
Nora. 


H 


CHAPTER  XI 
AT  THE  CRATER'S  EDGE 

ARRIGAN  declared  that  he  would  not 
go  over  to  Caxley-Webster's  to  tea. 

"  But  I've  promised  for  you !  "  expostulated 
his  wife.  "  And  he  admires  you  so." 

"  Bosh !  You  women  can  gad  about  as 
much  as  you  please,  but  I'm  in  wrong  when 
it  comes  to  eating  sponge-cake  and  knuckling 
my  knees  under  a  dinky  willow  table.  And 
then  he  always  has  some  frump  .  .  ." 

"  Frump !  "  repeated  Nora,  delighted. 

"  Frump  inspecting  me  through  a  pair  of 
eye-glasses  as  if  I  was  a  new  kind  of  an  ani 
mal.  It's  all  right,  Molly,  when  there's  a  big 
push.  They  don't  notice  me  much  then.  But 
these  six  by  eight  parties  have  me  covering." 

"  Very  well,  dad,"  agreed  Nora,  who  saw 
202 


AT  THE  CRATER'S  EDGE       203 

the  storm  gathering  in  her  mother's  eyes. 
"  You  can  stay  home  and  read  the  book  mother 
got  you  yesterday.  Where  are  you  now  ?  " 

"  Page  one,"  grinning. 

Mrs.  Harrigan  wisely  refrained  from  con 
tinuing  the  debate.  James  had  made  up  his 
mind  not  to  go.  If  the  colonel  repeated  his 
invitation  to  dinner,  where  there  would  be 
only  the  men  folk,  why,  he'd  gladly  enough 
go  to  that. 

The  women  departed  at  three,  for  there  was 
to  be  tennis  until  five  o'clock.  When  Harri 
gan  was  reasonably  sure  that  they  were  half 
the  distance  to  the  colonel's  villa,  he  put  on 
his  hat,  whistled  to  the  dachel,  and  together 
they  took  the  path  to  the  village. 

"  We'd  look  fine  drinking  tea,  wouldn't  we, 
old  scout?"  reaching  down  and  tweaking  the 
dog's  velvet  ears.  "  They  don't  understand, 
and  it's  no  use  trying  to  make  'em.  Nora  gets 
as  near  as  possible.  Herr  Rosen!  Now, 
where  have  I  seen  his  phiz  before?  I  wish  I 


204     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

had  a  real  man  to  talk  to.  Abbott  sulks  half 
the  time,  and  the  Barone  can't  get  a  joke  un 
less  it's  driven  in  with  a  mallet.  On  your 
way,  old  scout,  or  I'll  step  on  you.  Let's  see 
if  we  can  hoof  it  down  to  the  village  at  a  trot 
without  taking  the  count." 

He  had  but  two  errands  to  execute.  The 
first  was  accomplished  expeditely  in  the  little 
tobacconist's  shop  under  the  arcade,  where  the 
purchase  of  a  box  of  Minghetti  cigars  prom 
ised  later  solace.  These  cigars  were  cheap, 
but  Harrigan  had  a  novel  way  of  adding  to 
their  strength  if  not  to  their  aroma.  He  pos 
sessed  a  meerschaum  cigar-holder,  in  which  he 
had  smoked  perfectos  for  some  years.  The 
smoke  of  an  ordinary  cigar  became  that  of  a 
regalia  by  the  time  it  passed  through  the  r  ico- 
tine-soaked  clay  into  the  amber  mouthpiece. 
He  had  kept  secret  the  result  of  this  trifling 
scientific  research.  It  wouldn't  have  been 
politic  to  disclose  it  to  Molly.  The  second 
errand  took  time  and  deliberation.  He  stud- 


AT  THE  CRATER'S  EDGE       205 

ied  the  long  shelves  of  Tauchnitz.  Having 
red  corpuscles  in  superabundance,  he  naturally 
preferred  them  in  his  literature,  in  the  same 
quantity. 

"  Ever  read  this  ?  "  asked  a  pleasant  voice 
from  behind,  indicating  Rodney  Stone  with 
the  ferrule  of  a  cane. 

Harrigan  looked  up.  "  No.  What's  it 
about?" 

"  Best  story  of  the  London  prize-ring  ever 
written.  You're  Mr.  Harrigan,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  diffidently. 

"  My  name  is  Edward  Courtlandt.  If  I  am 
not  mistaken,  you  were  a  great  friend  of  my 
father's." 

"  Are  you  Dick  Courtlandt's  boy  ?  " 

"  I  am." 

"  Well,  say !  "  Harrigan  held  out  his  hand 
and  was  gratified  to  encounter  a  man's  grasp. 
"  So  you're  Edward  Courtlandt?  Now,  what 
do  you  think  of  that !  Why,  your  father  was 
the  best  sportsman  I  ever  met.  Square  as 


206     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

/ 

they  make  'em.  Not  a  kink  anywhere  in  his 
make-up.  He  used  to  come  to  the  bouts  in 
his  plug  hat  and  dress  suit;  always  had  a 
seat  by  the  ring.  I  could  hear  him  tap  with 
his  cane  when  there  happened  to  be  a  bit  of 
pretty  sparring.  He  was  no  slouch  himself 
when  it  came  to  putting  on  the  mitts.  Many's 
the  time  I've  had  a  round  or  two  with  him  in 
my  old  gymnasium.  Well,  well!  It's  good 
to  see  a  man  again.  I've  seen  your  name  in 
the  papers,  but  I  never  knew  you  was  Dick's 
boy.  You've  got  an  old  grizzly's  head  in  your 
dining-room  at  home.  Some  day  I'll  tell  you 
how  it  got  there,  when  you're  not  in  a  hurry. 
I  went  out  to  Montana  for  a  scrap,  and  your 
dad  went  along.  After  the  mill  was  over,  we 
went  hunting.  Come  up  to  the  villa  and  meet 
the  folks.  .  .  .  Hang  it,  I  forgot. 
They're  up  to  Caxley-Webster's  to  tea;  piffle 
water  and  sticky  sponge-cake.  I  want  you  to 
•meet  my  wife  and  daughter." 

"  I  should  be  very  pleased  to  meet  them." 


AT  THE  CRATER'S  EDGE       207 

So  this  was  Nora's  father?  "Won't  you 
come  along  with  me  to  the  colonel's?"  with 
sudden  inspiration.  Here  was  an  opportunity 
not  to  be  thrust  aside  lightly. 

"  Why,  I  just  begged  off.  They  won't  be 
expecting  me  now." 

"  All  the  better.  I'd  rather  have  you  intro 
duce  me  to  your  family  than  to  have  the 
colonel.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  told  him  I 
couldn't  get  up.  But  I  changed  my  mind. 
Come  along."  The  first  rift  in  the  storm- 
packed  clouds;  and  to  meet  her  through  the 
kindly  offices  of  this  amiable  man  who  was  her 
father ! 

"  But  the  pup  and  the  cigar  box?  " 

"  Send  them  up." 

Harrigan  eyed  his  own  spotless  flannels  and 
compared  them  with  the  other's.  What  was 
good  enough  for  the  son  of  a  millionaire  was 
certainly  good  enough  for  him.  Besides,  it 
would  be  a  bully  good  joke  on  Nora  and  Molly. 

"  You're  on !  "  he  cried.     Here  was  a  lark. 


208     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

He  turned  the  dog  and  the  purchases  over  to 
the  proprietor,  who  promised  that  they  should 
arrive  instantly  at  the  villa. 

Then  the  two  men  sought  the  quay  to  en 
gage  a  boat.  They  walked  shoulder  to  shoul 
der,  flat-backed,  with  supple  swinging  limbs, 
tanned  faces  and  clear  animated  eyes.  Per 
haps  Harrigan  was  ten  or  fifteen  pounds 
heavier,  but  the  difference  would  have  been 
noticeable  only  upon  the  scales. 

"  Padre,  my  shoe  pinches,"  said  Nora  with  a 
pucker  between  her  eyes. 

"  My  child,"  replied  the  padre,  "  never 
carry  your  vanity  into  a  shoemaker's  shop. 
The  happiest  man  is  he  who  walks  in  loose 
shoes." 

"If  they  are  his  own,  and  not  inherited," 
quickly. 

The  padre  laughed  quietly.  He  was  very 
fond  of  this  new-found  daughter  of  his.  Her 
spontaneity,  her  blooming  beauty,  her  careless 


AT  THE  CRATER'S  EDGE       209 

observation  of  convention,  her  independence, 
had  captivated  him.  Sometimes  he  believed 
that  he  thoroughly  understood  her,  when  all 
at  once  he  would  find  himself  mentally  peer 
ing  into  some  dark  corner  into  which  the  pene 
trating  light  of  his  usually  swift  deduction 
could  throw  no  glimmer.  She  possessed  the 
sins  of  the  butterfly  and  the  latent  possibilities 
of  a  Judith.  She  was  the  most  interesting 
feminine  problem  he  had  in  his  long  years 
encountered.  The  mother  mildly  amused  him, 
for  he  could  discern  the  character  that  she 
was  sedulously  striving  to  batten  down  beneath 
inane  social  usages  and  formalities.  Some 
day  she  would  revert  to  the  original  type,  and 
then  he  would  be  glad  to  renew  the  acquaint 
ance.  In  rather  a  shamefaced  way  (a  sen 
sation  he  could  not  quite  analyze)  he  loved 
the  father.  The  pugilist  will  always  embar 
rass  the  scholar  and  excite  a  negligible  envy; 
for  physical  perfection  is  the  most  envied  of 
all  nature's  gifts.  The  padre  was  short,  thick- 


2io     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

set,  and  inclined  toward  stoutness  in  the  region 
of  the  middle  button  of  his  cassock.  But  he 
was  active  enough  for  all  purposes. 

"  I  have  had  many  wicked  thoughts  lately," 
resumed  Nora,  turning  her  gaze  away  from 
the  tennis  players.  She  and  the  padre  were 
sitting  on  the  lower  steps  of  the  veranda.  The 
others  were  loitering  by  the  nets. 

"  The  old  plaint  disturbs  you  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Can  you  not  cast  it  out  wholly  ?  " 

"  Hate  has  many  tentacles." 

"  What  produces  that  condition  of  mind?  " 
meditatively.  "  Is  it  because  we  have  wronged 
somebody  ?  " 

"  Or  because  somebody  has  wronged  us  ?  " 

"  Or  misjudged  us,  by  us  have  been  mis 
judged?  "  softly. 

"  Good  gracious !  "  exclaimed  Nora,  spring 
ing  up. 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Father  is  coming  up  the  path !  " 


AT  THE  CRATER'S  EDGE       211 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  him.  But  I  do  not  recol 
lect  having  seen  the  face  of  the  man  with 
him." 

The  lithe  eagerness  went  out  of  Nora's 
body  instantly.  Everything  seemed  to  grow 
cold,  as  if  she  had  become  enveloped  in  one 
of  those  fogs  that  suddenly  blow  down 
menacingly  from  hidden  icebergs.  Fortu 
nately  the  inquiring  eyes  of  the  padre  were 
not  directed  at  her.  He  was  here,  not  a 
dozen  yards  away,  coming  toward  her,  her 
father's  arm  in  his!  After  what  had  passed 
he  had  dared!  It  was  not  often  that  Nora 
Harrigan  was  subjected  to  a  touch  of  ver 
tigo,  but  at  this  moment  she  felt  that  if  she 
stirred  ever  so  little  she  must  fall.  The  stock 
whence  she  had  sprung,  however,  was  aggres 
sive  and  fearless;  and  by  the  time  Courtlandt 
had  reached  the  outer  markings  of  the  courts, 
Nora  was  physically  herself  again.  The  ad 
vantage  of  the  meeting  would  be  his.  That 
was  indubitable.  Any  mistake  on  her  part 


would  be  playing  into  his  hands.  If  only  she 
had  known! 

"  Let  us  go  and  meet  them,  Padre,"  she 
said  quietly.  With  her  father,  her  mother  and 
the  others,  the  inevitable  introduction  would 
be  shorn  of  its  danger.  What  Celeste  might 
think  was  of  no  great  importance;  Celeste  had 
been  tried  and  her  loyalty  proven.  Where 
had  her  father  met  him,  and  what  diabolical 
stroke  of  fate  had  made  him  bring  this  man 
up  here? 

"  Nora !  "     It  was  her  mother  calling. 

She  put  her  arm  through  the  padre's,  and 
they  went  forward  leisurely. 

"  Why,  father,  I  thought  you  weren't  com 
ing,"  said  Nora.  Her  voice  was  without  a 
tremor. 

The  padre  hadn't  the  least  idea  that  a  volcano 
might  at  any  moment  open  up  at  his  side.  He 
smiled  benignly. 

"  Changed  my  mind,"  said  Harrigan. 
""  Nora,  Molly,  I  want  you  to  meet  Mr.  Court- 


AT  THE  CRATER'S  EDGE       213 

landt.  I  don't  know  that  I  ever  said  anything 
about  it,  but  his  father  was  one  of  the  best 
friends  I  ever  had.  He  was  on  his  way  up 
here,  so  I  came  along  with  him."  Then  Har- 
rigan  paused  and  looked  about  him  embar- 
rassedly.  There  were  half  a  dozen  unfamiliar 
faces. 

The  colonel  quickly  stepped  into  the  breach, 
and  the  introduction  of  Courtlandt  became 
general.  Nora  bowed,  and  became  at  once  en 
gaged  in  an  animated  conversation  with  the 
Barone,  who  had  just  finished  his  set  vic 
toriously. 

The  padre's  benign  smile  slowly  faded. 


CHAPTER  XII 
DICK  COURTLANDT'S  BOY 

PRESENTLY  the  servants  brought  out 
the  tea-service.  The  silent  dark-skinned 
Sikh,  with  his  fierce  curling  whiskers,  his 
flashing  eyes,  the  semi-military,  semi-oriental 
garb,  topped  by  an  enormous  brown  turban, 
claimed  Courtlandt's  attention;  and  it  may  be 
added  that  he  was  glad  to  have  something 
to  look  at  unembarrassedly.  He  wanted  to 
catch  the  Indian's  eye,  but  Rao  had  no  glances 
to  waste ;  he  was  concerned  with  the  immediate 
business  of  superintending  the  service. 

Courtlandt  had  never  been  a  man  to  sur 
render  to  impulse.  It  had  been  his  habit  to 
form  a  purpose  and  then  to  go  about  the  ful 
filling  of  it.  During  the  last  four  or  five 
months,  however,  he  had  swung  about  like  a 
214 


DICK  COURTLANDT'S  BOY      215 

weather-cock  in  April,  the  victim  of  a  thou 
sand  and  one  impulses.  That  morning  he 
would  have  laughed  had  any  one  prophesied 
his  presence  here.  He  had  fought  against  the 
inclination  strongly  enough  at  first,  but  as 
hour  after  hour  went  by  his  resolution  weak 
ened.  His  meeting  Harrigan  had  been  a 
stroke  of  luck.  Still,  he  would  have  come 
anyhow. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  am  very  fond  of  Como,"  he 
found  himself  replying  mechanically  to  Mrs. 
.Harrigan.  He  gave  up  Rao  as  hopeless  so 
far  as  coming  to  his  rescue  was  concerned. 
He  began,  despite  his  repugnance,  to  watch 
Nora. 

"  It  is  always  a  little  cold  in  the  higher 
Alps." 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  climbing  myself." 
Nora  was  laughing  and  jesting  with  one  of 
the  English  tennis  players.  Not  for  nothing 
had  she  been  called  a  great  actress,  he  thought. 
It  was  not  humanly  possible  that  her  heart  was 


216     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

under  better  control  than  his  own ;  and  yet  his 
was  pounding  against  his  ribs  in  a  manner  ex 
tremely  disquieting.  Never  must  he  be  left 
alone  with  her;  always  must  it  be  under  cir 
cumstances  like  this,  with  people  about,  and 
the  more  closely  about  the  better.  A  game 
like  this  was  far  more  exciting  than  tiger- 
hunting.  It  was  going  to  assume  the  char 
acteristics  of  a  duel  in  which  he,  being  the 
more  advantageously  placed,  would  succeed 
eventually  in  wearing  down  her  guard.  Here 
after,  wherever  she  went,  there  must  he  also 
go:  St.  Petersburg  or  New  York  or  London. 
And  by  and  by  the  reporters  would  hear  of 
it,  and  there  would  be  rumors  which  he  would 
neither  deny  nor  affirm.  Sport!  He  smiled, 
and  the  blood  seemed  to  recede  from  his  throat 
and  his  heart-beats  to  grow  normal. 

And  all  the  while  Mrs.  Harrigan  was  talk 
ing  and  he  was  replying;  and  she  thought  him 
charming,  whereas  he  had  not  formed  any 


DICK  COURTLANDT'S  BOY      217 

opinion  of  her  at  all,  nor  later  could  remember 
a  word  of  the  conversation. 

"  Tea !  "  bawled  the  colonel.  The  verb  had 
its  distinct  uses,  and  one  generally  applied  it 
to  the  colonel's  outbursts  without  being  de 
pressed  by  the  feeling  of  inelegance. 

There  is  invariably  some  slight  hesitation  in 
the  selection  of  chairs  around  a  tea-table  in 
the  open.  Nora  scored  the  first  point  of  this 
singular  battle  by  seizing  the  padre  on  one 
side  and  her  father  on  the  other  and  pulling 
.them  down  on  the  bench.  It  was  adroit  in 
two  ways :  it  put  Courtlandt  at  a  safe  distance 
and  in  nowise  offended  the  younger  men,  who 
could  find  no  cause  for  alarm  in  the  close 
proximity  of  her  two  fathers,  the  spiritual  and 
the  physical.  A  few  moments  later  Court 
landt  saw  a  smile  of  malice  part  her  lips,  for 
he  found  himself  between  Celeste  and  the  in 
evitable  frump. 

"  Touched !  "  he  murmured,  for  he  was  a 


218     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

thorough  sportsman  and  appreciated  a  good 
point  even  when  taken  by  his  opponent. 

"  I  never  saw  anything  like  it,"  whispered 
Mrs.  Harrigan  into  the  colonel's  ear. 

"  Saw  what  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Mr.  Courtlandt  can't  keep  his  eyes  off  of 
Nora." 

"  I  say ! "  The  colonel  adjusted  his  eye 
glass,  not  that  he  expected  to  see  more  clearly 
by  doing  so,  but  because  habit  had  long  since 
turned  an  affectation  into  a  movement  wholly 
mechanical.  "  Well,  who  can  blame  him  ? 
Gad!  if  I  were  only  twenty-five  or  there 
abouts." 

Mrs.  Harrigan  did  not  encourage  this  re 
gret.  The  colonel  had  never  been  a  rich  man. 
On  the  other  hand,  this  Edward  Courtlandt 
was  very  rich;  he  was  young;  and  he  had  the 
entree  to  the  best  families  in  Europe,  which 
was  greater  in  her  eyes  than  either  youth  or 
riches.  Between  sips  of  tea  she  builded  a 
fine  castle  in  Spain. 


DICK  COURTLANDT'S  BOY      219 

Abbott  and  the  Barone  carried  their  cups 
and  cakes  over  to  the  bench  and  sat  down  on 
the  grass,  Turkish-wise.  Both  simultaneously 
offered  their  cakes,  and  Nora  took  a  lady- 
finger  from  each.  Abbott  laughed  and  the 
Barone  smiled. 

"  Oh,  daddy  mine! "  sighed  Nora  drolly. 

"Huh?" 

"  Don't  let  mother  see  those  shoes." 

"What's  the  matter  with  'em?  Every 
body's  wearing  the  same." 

"  Yes.  But  I  don't  see  how  you  manage  to 
do  it.  One  shoe-string  is  virgin  white  and 
the  other  is  pagan  brown." 

"  I've  got  nine  pairs  of  shoes,  and  yet  there's 
always  something  the  matter,"  ruefully.  "  I 
never  noticed  when  I  put  them  on.  Besides, 
I  wasn't  coming." 

"  That's  no  defense.  But  rest  easy.  I'll  be 
as  secret  as  the  grave." 

"  Now,  I  for  one  would  never  have  noticed 
if  you  hadn't  called  my  attention,"  said  the 


220     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

padre,  stealing  a  glance  at  his  own  immaculate 
patent-leathers. 

"  Ah,  Padre,  that  wife  of  mine  has  eyes 
like  a  pilot-fish.  I'm  in  for  it." 

"  Borrow  one  from  the  colonel  before  you 
go  home,"  suggested  Abbott. 

"  That's  not  half  bad,"  gratefully. 

Harrigan  began  to  recount  the  trials  of 
forget  fulness. 

Slyly  from  the  corner  of  her  eye  Nora 
looked  at  Courtlandt,  who  was  at  that  moment 
staring  thoughtfully  into  his  tea-cup  and  stir 
ring  the  contents  industriously.  His  face 
was  a  little  thinner,  but  aside  from  that  he  had 
changed  scarcely  at  all ;  and  then,  because  these 
two  years  had  left  so  little  mark  upon  his 
face,  a  tinge  of  unreasonable  anger  ran  over 
her.  "  Men  have  died  and  worms  have  eaten 
them,"  she  thought  cynically.  Perhaps  the 
air  between  them  was  sufficiently  charged  with 
electricity  to  convey  the  impression  across  the 
intervening  space;  for  his  eyes  came  up 


DICK  COURTLANDT'S  BOY      221 

quickly,  but  not  quickly  enough  to  catch  her. 
She  dropped  her  glance  to  Abbott,  transferred 
it  to  the  Barone,  and  finally  let  it  rest  on  her 
father's  face.  Four  handsomer  men  she  had 
never  seen. 

"  You  never  told  me  you  knew  Courtlandt," 
said  Harrigan,  speaking  to  Abbott. 

"  Just  happened  that  way.  We  went  to 
school  together.  When  I  was  little  they  used 
to  make  me  wear  curls  and  wide  collars. 
Many's  the  time  Courtlandt  walloped  the 
school  bullies  for  mussing  me  up.  I  don't 
see  him  much  these  days.  Once  in  a  while  he 
walks  in.  That's  all.  Always  seems  to  know 
where  his  friends  are,  but  none  ever  knows 
where  he  is." 

Abbott  proceeded  to  elaborate  some  of  his 
friend's  exploits.  Nora  heard,  as  if  from 
afar.  Vaguely  she  caught  a  glimmer  of  what 
the  contest  was  going  to  be.  She  could  see 
only  a  little  way;  still,  she  was  optimistically 
confident  of  the  result.  She  was  ready.  In- 


222     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

deed,  now  that  the  shock  of  the  meeting  was 
past,  she  found  herself  not  at  all  averse  to  a 
conflict.  It  would  be  something  to  let  go  the 
pent-up  wrath  of  two  years.  Never  would 
she  speak  to  him  directly ;  never  would  she  per 
mit  him  to  be  alone  with  her;  never  would 
she  miss  a  chance  to  twist  his  heart,  to 
humiliate  him,  to  snub  him.  From  her  point 
of  view,  whatever  game  he  chose  to  play  would 
be  a  losing  one.  She  was  genuinely  surprised 
to  learn  how  eager  she  was  for  the  game  to 
begin  so  that  she  might  gage  his  strength. 

"  So  I  have  heard,"  she  was  dimly  con 
scious  of  saying. 

"  Didn't  know  you  knew,"  said  Abbott. 

"Knew  what?"  rousing  herself. 

"  That  Courtlandt  nearly  lost  his  life  in  the 
eighties." 

"  In  the  eighties !  "  dismayed  at  her  slip. 

"  Latitudes.     Polar  expedition." 

"  Heavens !     I  was  miles  away." 

The  padre  took  her  hand  in  his  own  and 


DICK  COURTLANDT'S  BOY      223 

began  to  pat  it  softly.  It  was  the  nearest  he 
dared  approach  in  the  way  of  suggesting  cau 
tion.  He  alone  of  them  all  knew. 

"  Oh,  I  believe  I  read  something  about  it  in 
the  newspapers." 

"  Five  years  ago."  Abbott  set  down  his 
tea-cup.  "  He's  the  bravest  man  I  know. 
He's  rather  a  friendless  man,  besides.  Hor 
ror  of  money.  Thinks  every  one  is  after  him 
for  that.  Tries  to  throw  it  away;  but  the  in 
come  piles  up  too  quickly.  See  that  Indian, 
passing  the  cakes?  Wouldn't  think  it,  would 
you,  that  Courtlandt  carried  him  on  his  back 
for  five  miles!  The  Indian  had  fallen  afoul 
a  wounded  tiger,  and  the  beaters  were 
miles  off.  I've  been  watching.  They  haven't 
even  spoken  to  each  other.  Courtlandt' s 
probably  forgotten  all  about  the  incident,  and 
the  Indian  would  die  rather  than  embarrass 
his  savior  before  strangers." 

"  Your  friend,  then,  is  quite  a  hero?  " 

What  was  the  matter  with   Nora's  voice? 


224     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

Abbott  looked  at  her  wonderingly.  The  tone 
was  hard  and  unmusical. 

"  He  couldn't  be  anything  else,  being  Dick 
Courtlandt's  boy,"  volunteered  Harrigan,  with 
enthusiasm.  "  It  runs  in  the  family." 

"  It  seems  strange,"  observed  Nora,  "  that 
I  never  heard  you  mention  that  you  knew  a 
Mr.  Courtlandt." 

"  Why,  Nora,  there's  a  lot  of  things  nobody 
mentions  unless  chance  brings  them  up. 
Courtlandt  —  the  one  I  knew  —  has  been  dead 
these  sixteen  years.  If  I  knew  he  had  had 
a  son,  I'd  forgotten  all  about  it.  The  only 
graveyard  isn't  on  the  hillside;  there's  one 
under  everybody's  thatch." 

The  padre  nodded  approvingly. 

Nora  was  not  particularly  pleased  with  this 
phase  in  the  play.  Courtlandt  would  find  a 
valiant  champion  in  her  father,  who  would 
blunder  in  when  some  fine  passes  were  being 
exchanged.  And  she  could  not  tell  him;  she 
would  have  cut  out  her  tongue  rather.  It 


DICK  COURTLANDT'S  BOY      225 

was  true  that  she  held  the  principal  cards  in 
the  game,  but  she  could  not  table  them  and 
claim  the  tricks  as  in  bridge.  She  must 
patiently  wait  for  him  to  lead,  and  he,  as  she 
very  well  knew,  would  lead  a  card  at  a  time, 
and  then  only  after  mature  deliberation. 
From  the  exhilaration  which  attended  the 
prospect  of  battle  she  passed  into  a  state  of 
depression,  which  lasted  the  rest  of  the  after 
noon. 

"  Will  you  forgive  me  ?  "  asked  Celeste  of 
Courtlandt.  Never  had  she  felt  more  ill  at 
ease.  For  a  full  ten  minutes  he  chatted  pleas 
antly,  with  never  the  slightest  hint  regarding 
the  episode  in  Paris.  She  could  stand  it  no 
longer.  "  Will  you  forgive  me  ?  " 

"For  what?" 

"  That  night  in  Paris." 

"  Do  not  permit  that  to  bother  you  in  the 
least.  I  was  never  going  to  recall  it." 

"  Was  it  so  unpleasant  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  was  much  amused." 


226     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  I  did  not  tell  you  the  truth." 

"  So  I  have  found  out." 

"  I  do  not  believe  that  it  was  you,"  im 
pulsively. 

"  Thanks.  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  Miss 
Harrigan's  imprisonment." 

"  Do  you  feel  that  you  could  make  a  con 
fidant  of  me?  " 

He  smiled.  "  My  dear  Miss  Fournier,  I 
have  come  to  the  place  where  I  distrust  even 
myself." 

"  Forgive  my  curiosity !  " 

Courtlandt  held  out  his  cup  to  Rao.  "  I  am 
glad  to  see  you  again." 

"Ah,  Sahib!" 

The  little  Frenchwoman  was  torn  with 
curiosity  and  repression.  She  wanted  to  know 
what  causes  had  produced  this  unusual  drama 
which  was  unfolding  before  her  eyes.  To  be 
presented  with  effects  which  had  no  apparent 
causes  was  maddening.  It  was  not  dissimilar 
to  being  taken  to  the  second  act  of  a  modern 


DICK  COURTLANDT'S  BOY      227 

problem  play  and  being  forced  to  leave  before 
the  curtain  rose  upon  the  third  act.  She  had 
laid  all  the  traps  her  intelligent  mind  could  in 
vent;  and  Nora  had  calmly  walked  over  them 
or  around.  Nora's  mind  was  Celtic:  French 
in  its  adroitness  and  Irish  in  its  watchfulness 
and  tenacity.  And  now  she  had  set  her  arts 
of  persuasion  in  motion  (aided  by  a  piquant 
beauty)  to  lift  a  corner  of  the  veil  from  this 
man's  heart.  Checkmate! 

"  I  should  like  to  help  you,"  she  said,  truth 
fully. 

"  In  what  way  ?  " 

It  was  useless,  but  she  continued :  "  She 
does  not  know  that  you  went  to  Flora  Desi- 
mone's  that  night." 

"  And  yet  she  sent  you  to  watch  me." 

"  But  so  many  things  happened  afterward 
that  she  evidently  forgot." 

"  That  is  possible." 

"  I  was  asleep  when  the  pistol  went  off. 
Oh,  you  must  believe  that  it  was  purely  ac- 


228     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

ciclental!  She  was  in  a  terrible  state  until 
morning.  What  if  she  had  killed  you,  what  if 
she  had  killed  you !  She  seemed  to  hark  upon 
that  phrase." 

Courtlandt  turned  a  sober  face  toward  her. 
She  might  be  sincere,  and  then  again  she 
might  be  playing  the  first  game  over  again,  in 
a  different  guise.  "  It  would  have  been  em 
barrassing  if  the  bullet  had  found  its  mark." 
He  met  her  eyes  squarely,  and  she  saw  that 
his  were  totally  free  from  surprise  or  agita 
tion  or  interest. 

"  Do  you  play  chess  ?  "  she  asked,  divert- 
ingly. 

"  Chess?     I  am  very  fond  of  that  game." 

"  So  I  should  judge,"  dryly.  "  I  suppose 
you  look  upon  me  as  a  meddler.  Perhaps  I 
am;  but  I  have  nothing  but  good  will  toward 
you;  and  Nora  would  be  very  angry  if  she 
knew  that  I  was  discussing  her  affairs  with 
you.  But  I  love  her  and  want  to  make  her 
happy." 


DICK  COURTLANDT'S  BOY      229 

"  That  seems  to  be  the  ambition  of  all  the 
young  men,  at  any  rate." 

Jealousy?  But  the  smile  baffled  her. 
"Will  you  be  here  long?" 

"  It  depends." 

"  Upon  Nora  ?  "  persistently. 

"The  weather." 

"  You  are  hopeless." 

"  No ;  on  the  contrary,  I  am  the  most 
optimistic  man  in  the  world." 

She  looked  into  this  reply  very  carefully. 
If  he  had  hopes  of  winning  Nora  Harrigan, 
optimistic  he  certainly  must  be.  Perhaps  it 
was  not  optimism.  Rather  might  it  not  be  a 
purpose  made  of  steel,  bendable  but  not  break 
able,  reinforced  by  a  knowledge  of  conditions 
which  she  would  have  given  worlds  to  learn? 

"Is  she  not  beautiful?" 

"  I  am  not  a  poet." 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  her  eyes  widening.  "  I 
believe  you  know  who  did  commit  that  out 
rage." 


23o     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

For  the  first  time  he  frowned. 

''  Very  well ;  I  promise  not  to  ask  any  more 
questions." 

'  That  would  be  very  agreeable  to  me." 
Then,  as  if  he  realized  the  rudeness  of  his  re 
ply,  he  added:  "Before  I  leave  I  will  tell 
you  all  you  wish  to  know,  upon  one  condition." 

"Tell  it!" 

"  You  will  say  nothing  to  any  one,  you  will 
question  neither  Miss  Harrigan  nor  myself, 
nor  permit  yourself  to  be  questioned." 

"  I  agree." 

"  And  now,  will  you  not  take  me  over  to 
your  friends?  " 

"Over  there?"  aghast. 

"  Why,  yes.  We  can  sit  upon  the  grass. 
They  seem  to  be  having  a  good  time." 

What  a  man !  Take  him  over,  into  the 
enemy's  camp?  Nothing  would  be  more 
agreeable  to  her.  Who  would  be  the  stronger, 
Nora  or  this  provoking  man? 

So  they  crossed  over  and  joined  the  group. 


DICK  COURTLANDT'S  BOY      231 

The  padre  smiled.  It  was  a  situation  such  as 
he  loved  to  study :  a  strong  man  and  a  strong 
woman,  at  war.  But  nothing  happened;  not 
a  ripple  anywhere  to  disclose  the  agitation  be 
neath.  The  man  laughed  and  the  woman 
laughed,  but  they  spoke  not  to  each  other,  nor 
looked  once  into  each  other's  eyes. 

The  sun  was  dropping  toward  the  western 
tops.  The  guests  were  leaving  by  twos  and 
threes.  The  colonel  had  prevailed  upon  his 
dinner-guests  not  to  bother  about  going  back 
to  the  village  to  dress,  but  to  dine  in  the 
clothes  they  wore.  Finally,  none  remained 
but  Harrigan,  Abbott,  the  Barone,  the  padre 
and  Courtlandt.  And  they  talked  noisily  and 
agreeably  concerning  man-affairs  until  Rao 
gravely  announced  that  dinner  was  served. 

It  was  only  then,  during  the  lull  which  fol 
lowed,  that  light  was  shed  upon  the  puzzle 
which  had  been  subconsciously  stirring  Har- 
rigan's  mind :  Nora  had  not  once  spoken  to 
the  son  of  his  old  friend. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

EVERYTHING   BUT    THE   TRUTH 

<*T   DON'T  see  why  the  colonel  didn't  invite 
A     some  of   the   ladies,"    Mrs.   Harrigan 
complained. 

"  It's  a  man-party.  He's  giving  it  to  please 
himself.  And  I  do  not  blame  him.  The 
women  about  here  treat  him  abominably. 
They  come  at  all  times  of  the  day  and  night, 
use  his  card-room,  order  his  servants  about, 
drink  his  whisky  and  smoke  his  cigarettes,  and 
generally  invite  themselves  to  luncheon  and  tea 
and  dinner.  And  then,  when  they  are  ready 
to  go  back  to  their  villas  or  hotel,  take  his 
motor-boat  without  a  thank-you.  The  colonel 
has  about  three  thousand  pounds  outside  his 
half -pay,  and  they  are  all  crazy  to  marry  him 
because  his  sister  is  a  countess.  As  a  bachelor 
232 


EVERYTHING  BUT  THE  TRUTH     233 

he  can  live  like  a  prince,  but  as  a  married  man 
he  would  have  to  dig.  He  told  me  that  if 
he  had  been  born  Adam,  he'd  have  climbed 
over  Eden's  walls  long  before  the  Angel  of  the 
Flaming  Sword  paddled  him  out.  Says  he's 
always  going  to  be  a  bachelor,  unless  I  take 
pity  on  him,"  mischievously. 

"  Has  he     .     .     .  ?  "   in  horrified  tones. 

"  About  three  times  a  visit,"  Nora  ad 
mitted  ;  "  but  I  told  him  that  I'd  be  a  daughter, 
a  cousin,  or  a  niece  to  him,  or  even  a  grand 
child.  The  latter  presented  too  many  com 
plications,  so  we  compromised  on  niece." 

"  I  wish  I  knew  when  you  were  serious  and 
when  you  were  fooling." 

"  I  am  often  as  serious  when  I  am  fooling 
as  I  am  foolish  when  I  am  serious  .  .  ." 

"  Nora,  you  will  have  me  shrieking  in  a 
minute !  "  despaired  the  mother.  "  Did  the 
colonel  really  propose  to  you  ?  " 

"  Only  in  fun." 

Celeste  laughed  and  threw  her  arm  around 


234     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

the  mother's  waist,  less  ample  than  substantial. 
"  Don't  you  care !  Nora  is  being  pursued  by 
little  devils  and  is  venting  her  spite  on  us." 

"  There'll  be  too  much  Burgundy  and  to 
bacco,  to  say  nothing  of  the  awful  stories." 

"  With  the  good  old  padre  there  ?  Hardly," 
said  Nora. 

Celeste  was  a  French  woman.  "  I  confess 
that  I  like  a  good  story  that  isn't  vulgar.  And 
none  of  them  look  like  men  who  would  stoop 
to  vulgarity." 

"  That's  about  all  you  know  of  men,"  de 
clared  Mrs.  Harrigan. 

"  I  am  willing  to  give  them  the  benefit  of 
a  doubt." 

"  Celeste,"  cried  Nora,  gaily,  "  I've  an  idea. 
Supposing  you  and  I  run  back  after  dinner  and 
hide  in  the  card-room,  which  is  right  across 
from  the  dining-room?  Then  we  can  judge 
for  ourselves." 

"Nora  Harrigan!" 

"  Molly   Harrigan !  "    mimicked   the   incor- 


EVERYTHING  BUT  THE  TRUTH     235 

rigible.  "  Mother  mine,  you  must  learn  to 
recognize  a  jest." 

"Ah,  but  yours!" 

"  Fine !  "  cried  Celeste. 

As  if  to  put  a  final  period  to  the  discussion, 
Nora  began  to  hum  audibly  an  aria  from 
Aid  a. 

They  engaged  a  carriage  in  the  village  and 
were  driven  up  to  the  villa.  On  the  way  Mrs. 
Harrigan  discussed  the  stranger,  Edward 
Courtlandt.  What  a  fine-looking  young  man 
he  was,  and  how  adventurous,  how  well-con 
nected,  how  enormously  rich,  and  what  an 
excellent  catch !  She  and  Celeste  —  the  one 
innocently  and  the  other  provocatively  —  con 
tinued  the  subject  to  the  very  doors  of  the 
villa.  All  the  while  Nora  hummed  softly. 

"What  do  you  think  of  him,  Nora?"  the 
mother  inquired. 

"Think  of  whom?" 

"  This  Mr.  Courtlandt." 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  pay  much  attention  to  him," 


236     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

carelessly.  But  once  alone  with  Celeste,  she 
seized  her  by  the  arm,  a  little  roughly. 
"  Celeste,  I  love  you  better  than  any  outsider 
I  know.  But  if  you  ever  discuss  that  man  in 
my  presence  again,  I  shall  cease  to  regard  you 
even  as  an  acquaintance.  He  has  come  here 
for  the  purpose  of  annoying  me,  though  he 
promised  the  prefect  in  Paris  never  to  annoy 
me  again." 

"The  prefect!" 

"  Yes.  The  morning  I  left  Versailles  I  met 
him  in  the  private  office  of  the  prefect.  He 
had  powerful  friends  who  aided  him  in  es 
tablishing  an  alibi.  I  was  only  a  woman,  so 
I  didn't  count." 

"  Nora,  if  I  have  meddled  in  any  way," 
proudly,  "  it  has  been  because  I  love  you,  and 
I  see  you  unhappy.  You  have  nearly  killed 
me  with  your  sphinx-like  actions.  You  have 
never  asked  me  the  result  of  my  spying  for 
you  that  night.  Spying  is  not  one  of  my  usual 
vocations,  but  I  did  it  gladly  for  you." 


EVERYTHING  BUT  THE  TRUTH     237 

"  You  gave  him  my  address  ?  "  coldly. 

"  I  did  not.  I  convinced  him  that  I  had 
come  at  the  behest  of  Flora  Desimone.  He 
demanded  her  address,  which  I  gave  him.  If 
ever  there  was  a  man  in  a  fine  rage,  it  was  he 
as  he  left  me  to  go  there.  If  he  found  out 
where  we  lived,  the  Calabrian  assisted  him. 
I  spoke  to  him  rather  plainly  at  tea.  He  said 
that  he  had  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with 
the  abduction,  and  I  believe  him.  I  am  posi 
tive  that  he  is  not  the  kind  of  man  to  go  that 
•far  and  not  proceed  to  the  end.  And  now, 
will  you  please  tell  Carlos  to  bring  my  dinner  to 
my  room  ?  " 

The  impulsive  Irish  heart  was  not  to  be  re 
sisted.  Nora  wanted  to  remain  firm,  but  in 
stead  she  swept  Celeste  into  her  arms. 
"  Celeste,  don't  be  angry !  I  am  very,  very 
unhappy." 

If  the  Irish  heart  was  impulsive,  the  French 
one  was  no  less  so.  Celeste  wanted  to  cry  out 
that  she  was  unhappy,  too. 


238     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  Don't  bother  to  dress !  Just  give  your 
hair  a  pat  or  two.  We'll  all  three  dine  on  the 
balcony." 

Celeste  flew  to  her  room.  Nora  went  over 
to  the  casement  window  and  stared  at  the 
darkening  mountains.  When  she  turned 
toward  the  dresser  she  was  astonished  to  find 
two  bouquets.  One  was  an  enormous  bunch 
of  violets.  The  other  was  of  simple  mar 
guerites.  She  picked  up  the  violets.  There 
was  a  card  without  a  name;  but  the  phrase 
scribbled  across  the  face  of  it  was  sufficient. 
She  flung  the  violets  far  down  into  the  grape 
vines  below.  The  action  was  without  anger, 
excited  rather  by  a .  contemptuous  indifference. 
As  for  the  simple  marguerites,  she  took  them 
up  gingerly.  The  arc  these  described  through 
the  air  was  even  greater  than  that  performed 
by  the  violets. 

"  I'm  a  silly  fool,  I  suppose,"  she  murmured, 
turning  back  into  the  room  again. 


EVERYTHING  BUT  THE  TRUTH     239 

It  was  ten  o'clock  when  the  colonel  bade 
his  guests  good  night  as  they  tumbled  out  of 
his  motor-boat.  They  were  in  more  or  less 
exuberant  spirits;  for  the  colonel  knew  how 
to  do  two  things  particularly  well:  order  a 
dinner,  and  avoid  the  many  traps  set  for  him 
by  scheming  mamas  and  eligible  widows.  Ab 
bott,  the  Barone  and  Harrigan,  arm  in  arm, 
marched  on  ahead,  whistling  one  tune  in  three 
different  keys,  while  Courtlandt  set  the  pace 
for  the  padre. 

.  All  through  the  dinner  the  padre  had 
watched  and  listened.  Faces  were  generally 
books  to  him,  and  he  read  in  this  young  man's 
face  many  things  that  pleased  him.  This 
was  no  night  rover,  a  fool  over  wine  and 
women,  a  spendthrift.  He  straightened  out 
the  lines  and  angles  in  a  man's  face  as  a 
skilled  mathematician  elucidates  an  intricate 
geometrical  problem.  He  had  arrived  at  the 
basic  knowledge  that  men  who  live  mostly  out 
of  doors  are  not  volatile  and  irresponsible,  but 


24o     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

are  more  inclined  to  reserve,  to  reticence,  to 
a  philosophy  which  is  broad  and  compre 
hensive  and  generous.  They  are  generally 
men  who  are  accomplishing  things,  and  who 
let  other  people  tell  about  it.  Thus,  the  padre 
liked  Courtlandt's  voice,  his  engaging  smile, 
his  frank  unwavering  eyes;  and  he  liked  the 
leanness  about  the  jaws,  which  was  indicative 
of  strength  of  character.  In  fact,  he  ex 
perienced  a  singular  jubilation  as  he  walked 
beside  this  silent  man. 

"  There  has  been  a  grave  mistake  some 
where,"  he  mused  aloud,  thoughtfully. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Courtlandt. 

"  I  beg  yours.  I  was  thinking  aloud.  How 
long  have  you  known  the  Harrigans?  " 

"  The  father  and  mother  I  never  saw  before 
to-day." 

"  Then  you  have  met  Miss  Harrigan  ?  " 

"  I  have  seen  her  on  the  stage." 

"  I  have  the  happiness  of  being  her  con 
fessor." 


EVERYTHING  BUT  THE  TRUTH     241 

They  proceeded  quite  as  far  as  a  hundred 
yards  before  Courtlandt  volunteered:  "That 
must  be  interesting." 

"  She  is  a  good  Catholic." 

"  Ah,  yes ;  I  recollect  now." 

"And  you?" 

"  Oh,  I  haven't  any  religion  such  as  requires 
my  presence  in  churches.  Don't  misunder 
stand  me!  As  a  boy  I  was  bred  in  the 
Episcopal  Church;  but  I  have  traveled  so 
much  that  I  have  drifted  out  of  the  circle.  I 
find  that  when  I  am  out  in  the  open,  in  the 
heart  of  some  great  waste,  such  as  a  desert, 
a  sea,  the  top  of  a  mountain,  I  can  see  the 
greatness  of  the  Omnipotent  far  more  clearly 
and  humbly  than  within  the  walls  of  a 
cathedral." 

"  But  God  imposes  obligations  upon  man 
kind.  We  have  ceased  to  look  upon  the  hermit 
as  a  holy  man,  but  rather  as  one  devoid  of 
courage.  It  is  not  the  stone  and  the  stained 
windows;  it  is  the  text  of  our  daily  work,  that 


242     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

the  physical  being  of  the  Church  represents." 
"  I  have  not  avoided  any  of  my  obliga 
tions."  Courtlandt  shifted  his  stick  behind 
his  back.  "  I  was  speaking  of  the  church  and 
the  open  field,  as  they  impressed  me." 

"  You  believe  in  the  tenets  of  Christianity?  " 

"  Surely !     A  man  must  pin  his  faith  and 

hope  to  something  more  stable  than  humanity." 

"  I  should  like  to  convert  you  to  my  way  of 

thinking,"  simply. 

"Nothing  is  impossible.  Who  knows?" 
The  padre,  as  they  continued  onward, 
offered  many  openings,  but  the  young  man  at 
his  side  refused  to  be  drawn  into  any  con 
fidence.  So  the  padre  gave  up,  for  the  futility 
of  his  efforts  became  irksome.  His  own  lips 
were  sealed,  so  he  could  not  ask  point-blank 
the  question  that  clamored  at  the  tip  of  his 
tongue. 

"So  you  are  Miss  Harrigan's  confessor?" 
"  Does  it  strike  you  strangely  ?  " 
"  Merely  the  coincidence." 


EVERYTHING  BUT  THE  TRUTH     243 

"If  I  were  not  her  confessor  I  should  take 
the  liberty  of  asking  you  some  questions." 

"  It  is  quite  possible  that  I  should  decline 
to  answer  them." 

The  padre  shrugged.  "  It  is  patent  to  me 
that  you  will  go  about  this  affair  in  your  own 
way.  I  wish  you  well." 

"  Thank  you.  As  Miss  Harrigan's  con 
fessor  you  doubtless  know  everything  but  the 
truth." 

The  padre  laughed  this  time.  The  shops 
were  closed.  The  open  restaurants  by  the 
water-front  held  but  few  idlers.  The  padre 
admired  the  young  man's  independence. 
Most  men  would  have  hesitated  not  a  second 
to  pour  the  tale  into  his  ears  in  hope  of  ma 
terial  assistance.  The  padre's  admiration  was 
equally  proportioned  with  respect. 

"  I  leave  you  here,"  he  said.  "  You  will 
see  me  frequently  at  the  villa." 

"  I  certainly  shall  be  there  frequently. 
Good  night." 


244      THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

Courtlandt  quickened  his  pace  which  soon 
brought  him  alongside  the  others.  They 
stopped  in  front  of  Abbott's  pension,  and  he 
tried  to  persuade  them  to  come  up  for  a  night 
cap. 

4 

"  Nothing  to  it,  my  boy,"  said  Harrigan. 
"  I  need  no  nightcap  on  top  of  cognac  forty- 
eight  years  old.  For  me  that's  a  whole  suit 
of  pajamas." 

"  You  come,  Ted." 

"  Abbey,  I  wouldn't  climb  those  stairs  for 
a  bottle  of  Horace's  Falernian,  served  on 
Seneca's  famous  citron  table." 

"Not  a  friend  in  the  world,"  Abbott 
lamented. 

Laughingly  they  hustled  him  into  the  hall 
way  and  fled.  Then  Courtlandt  went  his  way 
alone.  He  slept  with  the  dubious  satisfaction 
that  the  first  day  had  not  gone  badly.  The 
wedge  had  been  entered.  It  remained  to  be 
seen  if  it  could  be  dislodged. 

Harrigan    was    in    a    happy    temper.     He 


EVERYTHING  BUT  THE  TRUTH     245 

kissed  his  wife  and  chucked  Nora  under  the 
chin.  And  then  Mrs.  Harrigan  launched  the 
thunderbolt  which,  having  been  held  on 
the  leash  for  several  hours,  had,  for  all  of 
that,  lost  none  of  its  ability  to  blight  and 
scorch. 

"  James,  you  are  about  as  hopeless  a  man 
as  ever  was  born.  You  all  but  disgraced  us 
this  afternoon." 

"Mother!" 

"Me?"  cried  the  bewildered  Harrigan. 

"  Look  at  those  tennis  shoes ;  one  white 
string  and  one  brown  one.  It's  enough  to 
drive  a  woman  mad.  What  in  heaven's  name 
made  you  come  ?  " 

Perhaps  it  was  the  after  effect  of  a  good 
dinner,  that  dwindling  away  of  pleasant 
emotions;  perhaps  it  was  the  very  triviality 
of  the  offense  for  which  he  was  thus  suddenly 
arraigned;  at  any  rate,  he  lost  his  temper,  and 
he  was  rather  formidable  when  that  occurred. 

"  Damn  it,  Molly,  I  wasn't  going,  but  Court- 


246     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

landt  asked  me  to  go  with  him,  and  I  never 
thought  of  my  shoes.  You  are  always  find 
ing  fault  with  me  these  days.  I  don't  drink, 
I  don't  gamble,  I  don't  run  around  after  other 
women;  I  never  did.  But  since  you've  got 
this  social  bug  in  your  bonnet,  you  keep  me 
on  hooks  all  the  while.  Nobody  noticed  the 
shoe-strings ;  and  they  would  have  looked  upon 
it  as  a  joke  if  they  had.  After  all,  I'm  the 
boss  of  this  ranch.  If  I  want  to  wear  a  white 
string  and  a  black  one,  I'll  do  it.  Here !  " 
He  caught  up  the  book  on  social  usages  and 
threw  it  out  of  the  window.  "  Don't  ever 
shove  a  thing  like  that  under  my  nose  again. 
If  you  do,  I'll  hike  back  to  little  old  New 
York  and  start  the  gym  again." 

He  rammed  one  of  the  colonel's  perfectos 
(which  he  had  been  saving  for  the  morrow) 
between  his  teeth,  and  stalked  into  the 
garden. 

Nora  was  heartless  enough  to  laugh. 

"  He  hasn't  talked  like  that  to  me  in  vears !  " 


EVERYTHING  BUT  THE  TRUTH     247 

Mrs.  Harrigan  did  not  know  what  to  do, —  fol 
low  him  or  weep.  She  took  the  middle  course, 
and  went  to  bed. 

Nora  turned  out  the  lights  and  sat  out  on 
the  little  balcony.  The  moonshine  was  glori 
ous.  So  dense  was  the  earth-blackness  that 
the  few  lights  twinkling  here  and  there  were 
more  like  fallen  stars.  Presently  she  heard  a 
sound.  It  was  her  father,  returning  as  silently 
as  he  could.  She  heard  him  fumble  among 
the  knickknacks  on  the  mantel,  and  then  go 
away  again.  By  and  by  she  saw  a  spot  of 
white  light  move  hither  and  thither  among  the 
grape  arbors.  For  five  or  six  minutes  she 
watched  it  dance.  Suddenly  all  became  dark 
again.  She  laid  her  head  upon  the  railing 
and  conned  over  the  day's  events.  These 
were  not  at  all  satisfactory  to  her.  Then  her 
thoughts  traveled  many  miles  away.  Six 
months  of  happiness,  of  romance,  of  play,  and 
then  misery  and  blackness. 

"  Nora,  are  you  there  ?  " 


248     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  Yes.  Over  here  on  the  balcony.  What 
were  you  doing  down  there  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Nora,  I'm  sorry  I  lost  my  temper. 
But  Molly's  begun  to  nag  me  lately,  and  I 
can't  stand  it.  I  went  after  that  book.  Did 
you  throw  some  flowers  out  of  the  window  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  A  bunch  of  daisies?  " 

"  Marguerites,"  she  corrected. 

"  All  the  same  to  me.  I  picked  up  the 
bunch,  and  look  at  what  I  found  inside." 

He  extended  his  palm,  flooding  it  with  the 
light  of  his  pocket-lamp.  Nora's  heart  tight 
ened.  What  she  saw  was  a  beautiful  uncut 
emerald. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A    COMEDY   WITH    MUSIC 

THE  Harrigans  occupied  the  suite  in  the 
east  wing  of  the  villa.  This  consisted 
of  a  large  drawing-room  and  two  ample  bed 
chambers,  with  window-balconies  and  a  pri 
vate  veranda  in  the  rear,  looking  off  toward 
the  green  of  the  pines  and  the  metal-like 
•luster  of  the  copper  beeches.  Always  the  suite 
was  referred  to  by  the  management  as  having 
once  been  tenanted  by  the  empress  of  Ger 
many.  Indeed,  tourists  were  generally  and 
respectively  and  impressively  shown  the  suite 
(provided  it  was  not  at  the  moment  inhabited), 
and  were  permitted  to  peer  eagerly  about  for 
some  sign  of  the  vanished  august  presence. 
But  royalty  in  passing,  as  with  the  most 
humble  of  us,  leaves  nothing  behind  save  the 
memory  of  a  tip,  generous  or  otherwise. 
249 


250     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

It  was  raining,  a  fine,  soft,  blurring  Alpine 
rain,  and  a  blue-grey  monotone  prevailed  upon 
the  face  of  the  waters  and  defied  all  save  the 
keenest  scrutiny  to  discern  where  the  moun 
tain  tops  ended  and  the  sky  began.  It  was  a 
day  for  indoors,  for  dreams,  good  books,  and 
good  fellows. 

The  old-fashioned  photographer  would  have 
admired  and  striven  to  perpetuate  the  group 
in  the  drawing-room.  In  the  old  days  it  was 
quite  the  proper  thing  to  snap  the  family  group 
while  they  were  engaged  in  some  pleasant 
pastime,  such  as  spinning,  or  painting  china, 
or  playing  the  piano,  or  reading  a  volume  of 
poems.  No  one  ever  seemed  to  bother  about 
the  incongruence  of  the  eyes,  which  were  in 
variably  focused  at  the  camera  lens.  Here 
they  all  were.  Mrs.  Harrigan  was  deep  in 
the  intricate  maze  of  the  Amelia  Ars  of 
Bologna,  which,  as  the  initiated  know,  is  a 
wonderful  lace.  By  one  of  the  windows  sat 
Nora,  winding  interminable  yards  of  lace- 


A  COMEDY  WITH  MUSIC       251 

hemming  from  off  the  willing  if  aching  digits 
of  the  Barone,  who  was  speculating  as  to 
what  his  Neapolitan  club  friends  would  say 
could  they  see,  by  some  trick  of  crystal-gazing, 
his  present  occupation.  Celeste  was  at  the 
piano,  playing  (pianissimo}  snatches  from 
the  operas,  while  Abbott  looked  on,  his  el 
bows  propped  upon  his  knees,  his  chin  in  his 
palms,  and  a  quality  of  ecstatic  content  in 
his  eyes.  He  was  in  his  working  clothes, 
picturesque  if  paint-daubed.  The  morning 
had  been  pleasant  enough,  but  just  before 
luncheon  the  rain  clouds  had  gathered  and 
settled  down  with  that  suddenness  known  only 
in  high  altitudes. 

The  ex-gladiator  sat  on  one  of  those  slender 
mockeries,  composed  of  gold-leaf  and  para 
bolic  curves  and  faded  brocade,  such  as  one 
sees  at  the  Trianon  or  upon  the  stage  or  in 
the  new  home  of  a  new  millionaire,  and  which, 
if  the  true  facts  be  known,  the  ingenious  Louis 
invented  for  the  discomfort  of  his  favorites 


252     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

and  the  folly  of  future  collectors.  It  creaked 
whenever  Harrigan  sighed,  which  was  often, 
for  he  was  deeply  immersed  (and  no  better 
word  could  be  selected  to  fit  his  mental  condi 
tion)  in  the  baneful  book  which  he  had  hurled 
out  of  the  window  the  night  before,  only  to  re 
trieve  like  the  good  dog  that  he  was.  To-day 
his  shoes  offered  no  loophole  to  criticism;  he 
had  very  well  attended  to  that.  His  tie  har 
monized  with  his  shirt  and  stockings;  his  suit 
was  of  grey  tweed;  in  fact,  he  was  the  glass 
of  fashion  and  the  mold  of  form,  at  least  for 
the  present. 

"  Say,  Molly,  I  don't  see  what  difference  it 
makes." 

"Difference  what  makes,  James?"  Mrs. 
Harrigan  raised  her  eyes  from  her  work. 
James  had  been  so  well-behaved  that  morning 
it  was  only  logical  for  her  to  anticipate  that 
he  was  about  to  abolish  at  one  fell  stroke  all 
his  hard-earned  merits. 

"  About  eating  salads.     We  never  used  to 


A  COMEDY  WITH  MUSIC       253 

put  oil  on  our  tomatoes.  Sugar  and  vinegar 
were  good  enough." 

"  Sugar  and  vinegar  are  not  nourishing; 
olive-oil  is." 

"  We  seemed  to  hike  along  all  right  before 
we  learned  that."  His  guardian  angel  was 
alert  this  time,  and  he  returned  to  his  delving 
without  further  comment.  By  and  by  he  got 
up.  "  Pshaw !  "  He  dropped  the  wearisome 
volume  on  the  reading-table,  took  up  a  paper- 
covered  novel,  and  turned  to  the  last  fight  of 
the  blacksmith  in  Rodney  Stone.  Here  was 
something  that  made  the  invention  of  type 
excusable,  even  commendable. 

"  Play  the  fourth  ballade"  urged  Abbott. 

Celeste  was  really  a  great  artist.  As  an  in 
terpreter  of  Chopin  she  had  no  rival  among 
women,  and  only  one  man  was  her  equal. 
She  had  fire,  tenderness,  passion,  strength ;  she 
had  beyond  all  these,  soul,  which  is  worth  more 
in  true  expression  than  the  most  marvelous 
technique.  She  had  chosen  Chopin  for  his 


254     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

brilliance,  as  some  will  chose  Turner  in  prefer 
ence  to  Corot:  riots  of  color,  barbaric  and 
tingling.  She  was  as  great  a  genius  in  her 
way  as  Nora  was  in  hers.  There  was  some 
thing  of  the  elfin  child  in  her  spirit.  When 
ever  she  played  to  Abbott,  there  was  a  quality 
in  the  expression  that  awakened  a  wonder 
ment  in  Nora's  heart. 

As  Celeste  began  the  andante,  Nora  sig 
nified  to  the  Barone  to  drop  his  work.  She 
let  her  own  hands  fall.  Harrigan  gently 
closed  his  book,  for  in  that  rough  kindly  soul 
of  his  lay  a  mighty  love  of  music.  He  him 
self  was.  without  expression  of  any  sort,  and 
somehow  music  seemed  to  stir  the  dim  and  not 
quite  understandable  longing  for  utterance. 
Mrs.  Harrigan  alone  went  on  with  her  work; 
she  could  work  and  listen  at  the  same  time. 
After  the  magnificent  finale,  nothing  in  the 
room  stirred  but  her  needle. 

"  Bravo !  "  cried  the  Barone,  breaking  the 
spell. 


A  COMEDY  WITH  MUSIC       255 

"  You  never  played  that  better,"  declared 
Nora. 

Celeste,  to  escape  the  keen  inquiry  of  her 
friend  and  to  cover  up  her  embarrassment, 
dashed  into  one  of  the  lighter  compositions,  a 
waltz.  It  was  a  favorite  of  Nora's.  She  rose 
and  went  over  to  the  piano  and  rested  a  hand 
upon  Celeste's  shoulder.  And  presently  her 
voice  took  up  the  melody.  Mrs.  Harrigan 
dropped  her  needle.  It  was  not  that  she  was 
particularly  fond  of  music,  but  there  was 
something  in  Nora's  singing  that  cast  a  tem 
porary  spell  of  enchantment  over  her,  render 
ing  her  speechless  and  motionless.  She  was 
not  of  an  analytical  turn  of  mind;  thus,  the 
truth  escaped  her.  She  was  really  lost  in  ad 
miration  of  herself :  she  had  produced  this 
marvelous  being! 

"  That's  some !  "  Harrigan  beat  his  hands 
together  thunderously.  "  Great  stuff;  eh, 
Barone?" 

The  Barone  raised  his  hands  as  if  to  express 


256     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

his  utter  inability  to  describe  his  sensations. 
His  elation  was  that  ascribed  to  those  fortu 
nate  mortals  whom  the  gods  lifted  to  Olympus. 
At  his  feet  lay  the  lace-hemming,  hopelessly 
snarled. 

"  Father,  father !  "  remonstrated  Nora ; 
"you  will  wake  up  all  the  old  ladies  who  are 
having  their  siesta." 

"  Bah !  I'll  bet  a  doughnut  their  ears  are 
glued  to  their  doors.  What  ho!  Somebody's 
at  the  portcullis.  Probably  the  padre,  come 
up  for  tea." 

He  was  at  the  door  instantly.  He  flung  it 
open  heartily.  It  was  characteristic  of  the 
man  to  open  everything  widely,  his  heart,  his 
mind,  his  hate  or  his  affection. 

"  Come  in,  come  in !  Just  in  time  for  the 
matinee  concert." 

The  padre  was  not  alone.  Courtlandt  fol 
lowed  him  in. 

"  We  have  been  standing  in  the  corridor  for 
ten  minutes,"  affirmed  the  padre,  sending  a 


A  COMEDY  WITH  MUSIC       257 

winning  smile  around  the  room.  "  Mr.  Court- 
landt  was  for  going  down  to  the  bureau  and 
sending  up  our  cards.  But  I  would  not  hear 
of  such  formality.  I  am  a  privileged  person." 

"  Sure  yes !  Molly,  ring  for  tea,  and  tell 
'em  to  make  it  hot.  How  about  a  little  peg, 
as  the  colonel  says  ?  " 

The  two  men  declined. 

How  easily  and  nonchalantly  the  man  stood 
there  by  the  door  as  Harrigan  took  his  hat! 
Celeste  was  aquiver  with  excitement.  She 
was  thoroughly  a  woman :  she  wanted  some 
thing  to  happen,  dramatically,  romantically. 

But  her  want  was  a  vain  one.  The  man 
smiled  quizzically  at  Nora,  who  acknowledged 
the  salutation  by  a  curtsy  which  would  have 
frightened  away  the  banshees  of  her  childhood. 
Nora  hated  scenes,  and  Courtlandt  had  the 
advantage  of  her  in  his  knowledge  of  this. 
Celeste  remained  at  the  piano,  but  Nora  turned 
as  if  to  move  away. 

"  No,  no ! "  cried  the  padre,  his  palms  ex- 


258     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

tended  in  protest.  "If  you  stop  the  music  I 
shall  leave  instantly." 

"  But  we  are  all  through,  Padre,"  replied 
Nora,  pinching  Celeste's  arm,  which  action  the 
latter  readily  understood  as  a  command  to 
leave  the  piano. 

Celeste,  however,  had  a  perverse  streak  in 
her  to-day.  Instead  of  rising  as  Nora  ex 
pected  she  would,  she  wheeled  on  the  stool  and 
began  Morning  Mood  from  Peer  Gynt,  be 
cause  the  padre  preferred  Grieg  or  Beethoven 
to  Chopin.  Nora  frowned  at  the  pretty  head 
below  her.  She  stooped. 

"  I  sha'n't  forgive  you  for  this  trick,"  she 
whispered. 

Celeste  shrugged,  and  her  ringers  did  not 
falter.  So  Nora  moved  away  this  time  in 
earnest. 

"  No,  you  must  sing.  That  is  what  I  came 
up  for,"  insisted  the  padre.  If  there  was  any 
malice  in  the  churchman,  it  was  of  a  negative 
quality.  But  it  was  in  his  Latin  blood  that 


A  COMEDY  WITH  MUSIC       259 

drama  should  appeal  to  him  strongly,  and  here 
was  an  unusual  phase  in  The  Great  Play.  He 
had  urged  Courtlandt,  much  against  the  lat- 
ter's  will  this  day,  to  come  up  with  him,  sim 
ply  that  he  might  set  a  little  scene  such  as  this 
promised  to  be  and  study  it  from  the  van 
tage  of  the  prompter.  He  knew  that  the  prin 
cipal  theme  of  all  great  books,  of  all  great 
dramas,  was  antagonism,  antagonism  between 
man  and  woman,  though  by  a  thousand  other 
names  has  it  been  called.  He  had  often  said, 
in  a  spirit  of  raillery,  that  this  antagonism  was 
principally  due  to  the  fact  that  Eve  had  been 
constructed  (and  very  well)  out  of  a  rib  from 
Adam.  Naturally  she  resented  this,  that  she 
had  not  been  fashioned  independently,  and 
would  hold  it  against  man  until  the  true  secret 
of  the  parable  was  made  clear  to  her. 

"Sing  that,  Padre?"  said  Nora.  "Why, 
there  are  no  words  to  it  that  I  know." 

"Words?  Pestel  Who  cares  for  words 
no  one  really  ever  understands?  It  is  the 


2<5o     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

voice,  my  child.     Go  on,  or  I  shall  make  you 
do  some  frightful  penance." 

Nora  saw  that  further  opposition  would  be 
useless.  After  all,  it  would  be  better  to  sing, 
She  would  not  be  compelled  to  look  at  this 
man  she  so  despised.  For  a  moment  her  tones 
were  not  quite  clear;  but  Celeste  increased  the 
volume  of  sound  warningly,  and  as  this  re 
quired  more  force  on  Nora's  part,  the  little 
cross-current  was  passed  without  mishap.  It 
was  mere  pastime  for  her  to  follow  these  won 
derful  melodies.  She  had  no  words  to  recall 
so  that  her  voice  was  free  to  do  with  as  she 
elected.  There  were  bars  absolutely  impossi 
ble  to  follow,  note  for  note,  but  she  got  around 
this  difficulty  by  taking  the  key  and  holding  it 
strongly  and  evenly.  In  ordinary  times  Nora 
never  refused  to  sing  for  her  guests,  if  she 
happened  to  be  in  voice.  There  was  none  of 
that  conceited  arrogance  behind  which  most  of 
the  vocal  celebrities  hide  themselves.  At  the 
beginning  she  had  intended  to  sing  badly;  but 


A  COMEDY  WITH  MUSIC       261 

as  the  music  proceeded,  she  sang  as  she  had  not 
sung  in  weeks.  To  fill  this  man's  soul  with  a 
hunger  for  the  sound  of  her  voice,  to  pour 
into  his  heart  a  fresh  knowledge  of  what  he 
had  lost  forever  and  forever! 

Courtlandt  sat  on  the  divan  beside  Harrigan 
who,  with  that  friendly  spirit  which  he  ob 
served  toward  all  whom  he  liked,  whether  of 
long  or  short  acquaintance,  had  thrown  his 
arm  across  Courtlandt's  shoulder.  The 
younger  man  understood  all  that  lay  behind 
the  simple  gesture,  and  he  was  secretly  pleased. 
.  But  Mrs.  Harrigan  was  not.  She  was 
openly  displeased,  and  in  vain  she  tried  to 
catch  the  eye  of  her  wayward  lord.  A  man 
he  had  known  but  twenty- four  hours,  and  to 
greet  him  with  such  coarse  familiarity ! 

Celeste  was  not  wholly  unmerciful.  She 
did  not  finish  the  suite,  but  turned  from  the 
keys  after  the  final  chords  of  Morning  Mood. 

"  Thank  you !  "  said  Nora. 

"  Do  not  stop,"  begged  Courtlandt. 


262     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

•  Nora  looked  directly  into  his  eyes  as  she 
replied :  "  One's  voice  can  not  go  on  forever, 
and  mine  is  not  at  all  strong." 

And  thus,  without  having  originally  the  least 
intent  to  do  so,  they  broke  the  mutual  con 
tract  on  which  they  had  separately  and  se 
cretly  agreed:  never  to  speak  directly  to  each 
other.  Nora  was  first  to  realize  what  she 
had  done,  and  she  was  furiously  angry  with 
herself.  She  left  the  piano. 

As  if  her  mind  had  opened  suddenly  like  a 
book,  Courtlandt  sprang  from  the  divan  and 
reached  for  the  fat  ball  of  lace-hemming.  He 
sat  down  in  Nora's  chair  and  nodded  signifi 
cantly  to  the  Barone,  who  blushed.  To  hold 
the  delicate  material  for  Nora's  unwinding  was 
a  privilege  of  the  gods,  but  to  hold  it  for  this 
man  for  whom  he  held  a  dim  feeling  of  an 
tagonism  was  altogether  a  different  matter. 

"It  is  horribly  tangled,"  he  admitted,  hop 
ing  thus  to  escape. 

"No  matter.     You  hold  the  ball.     I'll  un- 


A  COMEDY  WITH  MUSIG       263 

tangle  it.  I  never  saw  a  fish-line  I  could  not 
straighten  out." 

Nora  laughed.  It  was  not  possible  for  her 
to  repress  the  sound.  Her  sense  of  humor 
was  too  strong  in  this  case  to  be  denied  its 
release  in  laughter.  It  was  free  of  the  subtler 
emotions;  frank  merriment,  no  more,  no  less. 
And  possessing  the  hunter's  extraordinarily 
keen  ear,  Courtlandt  recognized  the  quality; 
and  the  weight  of  a  thousand  worlds  lightened 
its  pressure  upon  his  heart.  And  the  Barone 
laughed,  too.  So  there  they  were,  the  three 
of  them.  But  Nora's  ineffectual  battle  for 
repression  had  driven  her  near  to  hysteria. 
To  escape  this  dire  calamity,  she  flung  open  a 
casement  window  and  stood  within  it,  breath 
ing  in  the  heavy  fragrance  of  the  rain-laden 
air. 

This  little  comedy  had  the  effect  of  relaxing 
them  all;  and  the  laughter  became  general. 
Abbott's  smile  faded  soonest.  He  stared  at 
his  friend  in  wonder  not  wholly  free  from  a 


264     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

sense  of  evil  fortune.  Never  had  he  known 
Courtlandt  to  aspire  to  be  a  squire  of  dames. 
To  see  the  Barone  hold  the  ball  as  if  it  were 
hot  shot  was  amusing;  but  the  cool  imper 
turbable  manner  with  which  Courtlandt  pro 
ceeded  to  untangle  the  snarl  was  disturbing. 
Why  the  deuce  wasn't  he  himself  big  and 
strong,  silent  and  purposeful,  instead  of  being 
a  dawdling  fool  of  an  artist? 

No  answer  came  to  his  inquiry,  but  there 
was  a  knock  at  the  door.  The  managing 
director  handed  Harrigan  a  card. 

"  Herr  Rosen,"  he  read  aloud.  "  Send  him 
up.  Some  friend  of  yours,  Nora;  Herr 
Rosen.  I  told  Mr.  Jilli  to  send  him  up." 

The  padre  drew  his  feet  under  his  cassock, 
a  sign  of  perturbation;  Courtlandt  continued 
to  unwind;  the  Barone  glanced  fiercely  at 
Nora,  who  smiled  enigmatically. 


CHAPTER  XV 

HERR    ROSEN'S    REGRETS 

HERR  ROSEN !  There  was  no  outward 
reason  why  the  name  should  have  set  a 
chill  on  them  all,  turned  them  into  expectant 
statues.  Yet,  all  semblance  of  good-fellow 
ship  was  instantly  gone.  To  Mrs.  Harrigan 
alone  did  the  name  convey  a  sense  of  responsi 
bility,  a  flutter  of  apprehension  not  unmixed 
with  delight.  She  put  her  own  work  behind 
the  piano  lid,  swooped  down  upon  the  two  men 
and  snatched  away  the  lace-hemming,  to  the 
infinite  relief  of  the  one  and  the  surprise  of 
the  other.  Courtlandt  would  have  liked  noth 
ing  better  than  to  hold  the  lace  in  his  lap,  for 
it  was  possible  that  Herr  Rosen  might  wish  to 
shake  hands,  however  disinclined  he  might  be 
within  to  perform  such  greeting.  The  lace 
265 


266     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

disappeared.  Mrs.  Harrigan  smoothed  out 
the  wrinkles  in  her  dress.  From  the  others 
there  had  been  little  movement  and  no  sound 
to  speak  of.  Harrigan  still  waited  by  the 
door,  seriously  contemplating  the  bit  of  paste 
board  in  his  hand. 

Nora  did  not  want  to  look,  but  curiosity 
drew  her  eyes  imperiously  toward  Courtlandt. 
He  had  not  risen.  Did  he  know?  Did  he 
understand?  Was  his  attitude  pretense  or  in 
nocence?  Ah,  if  she  could  but  look  behind 
that  impenetrable  mask !  How  she  hated  him ! 
The  effrontery  of  it  all!  And  she  could  do 
nothing,  say  nothing :  dared  not  tell  them  then 
and  there  what  he  truly  was,  a  despicable 
scoundrel!  The  son  of  her  father's  dearest 
friend;  what  mockery!  A  friend  of  the  fam 
ily  !  It  was  maddening. 

Herr  Rosen  brushed  past  Harrigan  uncere 
moniously,  without  pausing,  and  went  straight 
over  to  Nora,  who  was  thereupon  seized  by  an 
uncontrollable  spirit  of  devilment.  She  hated 


HERR  ROSEN'S  REGRETS       267 

Herr  Rosen,  but  she  was  going  to  be  as  pleas 
ant  and  as  engaging  as  she  knew  how  to  be. 
She  did  not  care  if  he  misinterpreted  her 
mood.  She  welcomed  him  with  a  hand.  He 
went  on  to  Mrs.  Harrigan,  who  colored  pleas- 
urably.  He  was  then  introduced,  and  he  ac 
knowledged  each  introduction  with  a  careless 
nod.  He  was  there  to  see  Nora,  and  he  did 
not  propose  to  put  himself  to  any  inconveni 
ence  on  account  of  the  others. 

The  temporary  restraint  which  had  settled 
upon  the  others  at  the  announcement  of  Herr 
Rosen's  arrival  passed  away.  Courtlandt, 
who  had  remained  seated  during  the  initial 
formalities  (a  fact  which  bewildered  Abbott, 
who  knew  how  punctilious  his  friend  was  in 
matters  of  this  kind).,  got  up  and  took  a  third 
of  the  divan. 

Harrigan  dropped  down  beside  him.  It  was 
his  habit  to  watch  his  daughter's  face  when 
any  guest  arrived.  He  formed  his  impression 
on  what  he  believed  to  be  hers.  That  she 


268     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

was  a  consummate  actress  never  entered  into 
his  calculations.  The  welcoming  smile  dissi 
pated  any  doubts. 

"  No  matter  where  we  are,  they  keep  com 
ing.  She  has  as  many  friends  as  T.  R.  I 
never  bother  to  keep  track  of  'em." 

"  It  would  be  rather  difficult,"  assented 
Courtlandt. 

"  You  ought  to  see  the  flowers.  Loads  of 
'em.  And  say,  what  do  you  think?  Every 
jewel  that  comes  she  turns  into  money  and 
gives  to  charity.  Can  you  beat  it  ?  Fine  joke 
on  the  Johnnies.  Of  course,  I  mean  stones 
that  turn  up  anonymously.  Those  that  have 
cards  go  back  by  fast-mail.  It's  a  good  thing 
I  don't  chance  across  the  senders.  Now,  boy, 
I  want  you  to  feel  at  home  here  in  this  family ; 
I  want  you  to  come  up  when  you  want  to 
and  at  any  old  time  of  day.  I  kind  of  want 
to  pay  back  to  you  all  the  kind  things  your 
dad  did  for  me.  And  I  don't  want  any  Oh- 
pshawing.  Get  me  ?  " 


HERR  ROSEN'S  REGRETS       269 

"Whatever  you  say.  If  my  dad  did  you 
any  favors  it  was  because  he  liked  and  ad 
mired  you;  not  with  any  idea  of  having  you 
discharge  the  debt  in  the  future  by  way  of 
inconveniencing  yourself  on  my  account.  Just 
let  me  be  a  friend  of  the  family,  like  Abbott 
here.  That  would  be  quite  enough  honor  for 
me." 

"  You're  on !  Say,  that  blacksmith  yarn 
was  a  corker.  He  was  a  game  old  codger. 
That  was  scrapping;  no  hall  full  of  tobacco- 
smoke,  no  palm- fans,  lemonade,  peanuts  and 
pop-corn;  just  right  out  on  the  turf,  and  may 
the  best  man  win.  I  know.  I  went  through 
that.  No  frame-ups,  all  square  and  on  the 
level.  A  fellow  had  to  fight  those  days,  no 
sparring,  no  pretty  footwork.  Sometimes  I've 
a  hankering  to  get  back  and  exchange  a  wallop 
or  two.  Nothing  to  it,  though.  My  wife 
won't  let  me,  as  the  song  goes." 

Courtlandt  chuckled.  "  I  suppose  it's  the 
monotony.  A  man  who  has  been  active  hates 


2;o     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

to  sit  down  and  twiddle  his  thumbs.  You 
exercise?  " 

"  Walk  a  lot." 

"Climb  any?" 

"  Don't  know  that  game." 

"  It's  great  sport.  I'll  break  you  in  some 
day,  if  you  say.  You'll  like  it.  The  moun 
tains  around  here  are  not  dangerous.  We  can 
go  up  and  down  in  a  day." 

"  I'll  go  you.  But,  say,  last  night  Nora 
chucked  a  bunch  of  daisies  out  of  the  window, 
and  as  I  was  nosing  around  in  the  vineyard,  I 
came  across  it.  You  know  how  a  chap  will 
absently  pick  a  bunch  of  flowers  apart.  What 
do  you  think  I  found  ?  " 

"A  note?" 

"  This."  Harrigan  exhibited  the  emerald. 
"Who  sent  it?  Where  the  dickens  did  it 
come  from  ?  " 

Courtlandt  took  the  stone  and  examined  it 
carefully.  "  That's  not  a  bad  stone.  Uncut 
but  polished ;  oriental." 


HERR  ROSEN'S  REGRETS       271 

"  Oriental,  eh  ?  What  would  you  say  it  was 
worth?" 

"  Oh,  somewhere  between  six  and  seven 
hundred." 

"  Suffering  shamrocks !  A  little  green  peb 
ble  like  this?  " 

"  Cut  and  flawless,  at  that  size,  it  would  be 
worth  pounds  instead  of  dollars." 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  that?  Nora 
told  me  to  keep  it,  so  I  guess  I  will." 

"  Why,  yes.  If  a  man  sends  a  thing  like 
this  anonymously,  he  can't  possibly  complain. 
Have  it  made  into  a  stick  pin."  Courtlandt 
returned  the  stone  which  Harrigan  pocketed. 

"  Sometimes  I  wish  Nora'd  marry  and  settle 
down." 

"  She  is  young.  You  wouldn't  have  quit 
the  game  at  her  age !  " 

"  I  should  say  not !  But  that's  different. 
A  man's  business  is  to  fight  for  his  grub, 
whether  in  an  office  or  in  the  ring.  That's  a 
part  of  the  game.  But  a  woman  ought  to 


272     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

have  a  home,  live  in  it  three-fourths  of  the 
year,  and  bring  up  good  citizens.  That's  what 
we  are  all  here  for.  Molly  used  to  stay  at 
home,  but  now  it's  the  social  bug,  gadding 
from  morning  until  night.  Ah,  here's  Carlos 
with  the  tea." 

Herr  Rosen  instantly  usurped  the  chair  next 
to  Nora,  who  began  to  pour  the  tea.  He  had 
come  up  from  the  village  prepared  for  a  dis 
agreeable  half-hour.  Instead  of  being  greeted 
with  icy  glances  from  stormy  eyes,  he  en 
countered  such  smiles  as  this  adorable  creature 
had  never  before  bestowed  upon  him.  He 
was  in  the  clouds.  That  night  at  Cadenabbia 
had  apparently  knocked  the  bottom  out  of  his 
dream.  Women  were  riddles  which  only  they 
themselves  could  solve  for  others.  For  this 
one  woman  he  was  perfectly  ready  to  throw 
everything  aside.  A  man  lived  but  once ;  and 
he  was  a  fool  who  would  hold  to  tinsel  in  pref 
erence  to  such  happiness  as  he  thought  he  saw 
opening  out  before  him.  Nora  saw,  but  she 


HERR  ROSEN'S  REGRETS       273 

did  not  care.  That  in  order  to  reach  an 
other  she  was  practising  infinite  cruelty  on  this 
man  (whose  one  fault  lay  in  that  he  loved  her) 
did  not  appeal  to  her  pity.  But  her  arrow 
flew  wide  of  the  target;  at  least,  there  appeared 
no  result  to  her  archery  in  malice.  Not  once 
had  the  intended  victim  looked  over  to  where 
she  sat.  And  yet  she  knew  that  he  must  be 
watching;  he  could  not  possibly  avoid  it  and 
be  human.  And  when  he  finally  came  forward 
to  take  his  cup,  she  leaned  toward  Herr  Rosen. 

"  You  take  two  lumps  ?  "  she  asked  sweetly. 
It  was  only  a  chance  shot,  but  she  hit  on  the 
truth. 

"  And  you  remember  ?  "  excitedly. 

"  One  lump  for  mine,  please,"  said  Court- 
landt,  smiling. 

She  picked  up  a  cube  of  sugar  and  dropped 
it  into  his  cup.  She  had  the  air  of  one  wish 
ing  it  were  poison.  The  recipient  of  this  good 
will,  with  perfect  understanding,  returned  to 
the  divan,  where  the  padre  and  Harrigan  were 


274     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

gravely  toasting  each  other  with  Benedictine. 

Nora  made  no  mistake  with  either  Abbott's 
cup  or  the  Barone's;  but  the  two  men  were 
filled  with  but  one  desire,  to  throw  Herr  Rosen 
out  of  the  window.  What  had  begun  as  a 
beautiful  day  was  now  becoming  black  and 
uncertain. 

The  Barone  could  control  every  feature 
save  his  eyes,  and  these  openly  admitted 
deep  anger.  He  recollected  Herr  Rosen  well 
enough.  The  encounter  over  at  Cadenab- 
bia  was  not  the  first  by  many.  Herr  Rosen ! 
His  presence  in  this  room  under  that  name 
was  an  insult,  and  he  intended  to  call  the 
interloper  to  account  the  very  first  opportunity 
he  found. 

Perhaps  Celeste,  sitting  as  quiet  as  a  mouse 
upon  the  piano-stool,  was  the  only  one  who 
saw  these  strange  currents  drifting  danger 
ously  about.  That  her  own  heart  ached  mis 
erably  did  not  prevent  her  from  observing 
things  with  all  her  usual  keenness.  Ah,  Nora, 


HERR  ROSEN'S  REGRETS       275 

Nora,  who  have  everything  to  give  and  yet 
give  nothing,  why  do  you  play  so  heartless  a 
game  ?  Why  hurt  those  who  can  no  more  help 
loving  you  than  the  earth  can  help  whirling 
around  the  calm  dispassionate  sun?  Always 
they  turn  to  you,  while  I,  who  have  so  much 
to  give,  am  given  nothing!  She  set  down  her 
tea-cup  and  began  the  aria  from  La  Boheme. 

Nora,  without  relaxing  the  false  smile,  sud 
denly  found  emptiness  in  everything. 

"  Sing!  "  said  Herr  Rosen. 

"  I  am  too  tired.     Some  other  time." 

He  did  not  press  her.  Instead,  he  whis 
pered  in  his  own  tongue :  "  You  are  the  most 
adorable  woman  in  the  world !  " 

And  Nora  turned  upon  him  a  pair  of  eyes 
blank  with  astonishment.  It  was  as  though 
she  had  been  asleep  and  he  had  rudely  awak 
ened  her.  His  infatuation  blinded  him  to  the 
truth;  he  saw  in  the  look  a  feminine  desire  to 
throw  the  others  off  the  track  as  to  the  senti 
ment  expressed  in  his  whispered  words. 


276     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

The  hour  passed  tolerably  well.  Herr 
Rosen  then  observed  the  time,  rose  and  ex 
cused  himself.  He  took  the  steps  leading 
abruptly  down  the  terrace  to  the  carriage  road. 
He  had  come  by  the  other  way,  the  rambling 
stone  stairs  which  began  at  the  porter's  lodge, 
back  of  the  villa. 

"  Padre,"  whispered  Courtlandt,  "  I  am 
going.  Do  not  follow.  I  shall  explain  to  you 
when  we  meet  again." 

The  padre  signified  that  he  understood. 
Harrigan  protested  vigorously,  but  smiling  and 
shaking  his  head,  Courtlandt  went  away. 

Nora  ran  to  the  window.  She  could  see 
Herr  Rosen  striding  along,  down  the  winding 
road,  his  head  in  the  air.  Presently,  from 
behind  a  cluster  of  mulberries,  the  figure  of 
another  man  came  into  view.  He  was  going 
at  a  dog-trot,  his  hat  settled  at  an  angle  that 
permitted  the  rain  to  beat  squarely  into  his 
face.  The  next  turn  in  the  road  shut  them 
both  from  sight.  But  Nora  did  not  stir. 


HERR  ROSEN'S  REGRETS       277 

Herr  Rosen  stopped  and  turned. 

"You  called?" 

"  Yes."  Courtlandt  had  caught  up  with 
him  just  as  Herr  Rosen  was  about  to  open  the 
gates.  "  Just  a  moment,  Herr  Rosen,"  with 
a  hand  upon  the  bars.  "  I  shall  not  detain 
you  long." 

There  was  studied  insolence  in  the  tones  and 
the  gestures  which  accompanied  them. 

"  Be  brief,  if  you  please." 

"  My  name  is  Edward  Courtlandt,  as  doubt 
less  you  have  heard." 

"  In  a  large  room  it  is  difficult  to  remember 
all  the  introductions." 

"  Precisely.  That  is  why  I  take  the  liberty 
of  recalling  it  to  you,  so  that  you  will  not  for 
get  it,"  urbanely. 

A  pause.  Dark  patches  of  water  were 
spreading  across  their  shoulders.  Little  rivu 
lets  ran  down  Courtlandt's  arm,  raised  as  it 
was  against  the  bars. 

"  I  do  not  see  how  it  may  concern  me,"  re- 


278     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

plied  Herr  Rosen  finally  with  an  insolence 
more  marked  than  Courtlandt's. 

"  In  Paris  we  met  one  night,  at  the  stage 
entrance  of  the  Opera,  I  pushed  you  aside, 
not  knowing  who  you  were.  You  had  offered 
your  services;  the  door  of  Miss  Harrigan's 
limousine." 

"  It  was  you  ?  "  scowling. 

"  I  apologize  for  that.  To-morrow  morn 
ing  you  will  leave  Bellaggio  for  Varenna. 
Somewhere  between  nine  and  ten  the  fast  train 
leaves  for  Milan." 

"Varenna!     Milan!" 

"  Exactly.  You  speak  English  as  naturally 
and  fluently  as  if  you  were  born  to  the  tongue. 
Thus,  you  will  leave  for  Milan.  What  be 
comes  of  you  after  that  is  of  no  consequence 
to  me.  Am  I  making  myself  clear?  " 

"  Verdampt!  Do  I  believe  my  ears?  "  furi 
ously.  "  Are  you  telling  me  to  leave  Bellaggio 
to-morrow  morning?" 

"  As  directly  as  I  can." 


HERR  ROSEN'S  REGRETS       279 

Herr  Rosen's  face  became  as  red  as  his 
name.  He  was  a  brave  young  man,  but  there 
was  danger  of  an  active  kind  in  the  blue  eyes 
boring  into  his  own.  If  it  came  to  a  physical 
contest,  he  realized  that  he  would  get  the  worst 
of  it.  He  put  his  hand  to  his  throat;  his  very 
impotence  was  choking  him. 

"  Your  Highness     .     .     ." 

"  Highness !  "     Herr  Rosen  stepped  back. 

"  Yes.  Your  Highness  will  readily  see  the 
wisdom  of  my  concern  for  your  hasty  depart 
ure  when  I  add  that  I  know  all  about  the  little 
house  in  Versailles,  that  my  knowledge  is 
shared  by  the  chief  of  the  Parisian  police  and 
the  minister  of  war.  If  you  annoy  Miss  Har- 
rigan  with  your  equivocal  attentions  .  .  ." 

"Go ft!    This  is  too  much !" 

"  Wait !  I  am  stronger  than  you  are.  Do 
not  make  me  force  you  to  hear  me  to  the  end. 
You  have  gone  about  this  intrigue  like  a  black 
guard,  and  that  I  know  your  Highness  not  to 
be.  The  matter  is,  you  are  young,  you  have 


280     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

always  had  your  way,  you  have  not  learnt  re 
straint.  Your  presence  here  is  an  insult  to 
Miss  Harrigan,  and  if  she  was  pleasant  to  you 
this  afternoon  it  was  for  my  benefit.  If  you 
do  not  go,  I  shall  expose  you."  Courtlandt 
opened  the  gate. 

"And  if  I  refuse?" 

"  Why,  in  that  case,  being  the  American  that 
I  am,  without  any  particular  reverence  for 
royalty  or  nobility,  as  it  is  known,  I  promise 
to  thrash  you  soundly  to-morrow  morning  at 
ten  o'clock,  in  the  dining-room,  in  the  bureau, 
the  drawing-room,  wherever  I  may  happen  to 
find  you." 

Courtlandt  turned  on  his  heel  and  hurried 
back  to  the  villa.  He  did  not  look  over  his 
shoulder.  If  he  had,  he  might  have  felt  pity 
for  the  young  man  who  leaned  heavily  against 
the  gate,  his  burning  face  pressed  upon  his 
rain-soaked  sleeve. 

When  Courtlandt  knocked  at  the  door  and 


HERR  ROSEN'S  REGRETS       281 

was  admitted,  he  apologized.  "  I  came  back 
for  my  umbrella." 

"  Umbrella !  "  exclaimed  the  padre.  "  Why, 
we  had  no  umbrellas.  We  came  up  in  a  car 
riage  which  is  probably  waiting  for  us  this 
very  minute  by  the  porter's  lodge." 

"  Well,  I  am  certainly  absent-minded !  " 

"  Absent-minded !  "  scoffed  Abbott.  "  You 
never  forgot  anything  in  all  your  life,  unless  it 
was  to  go  to  bed.  You  wanted  an  excuse  to 
come  back." 

"  Any  excuse  would  be  a  good  one  in  that 
case.  I  think  we'd  better  be  going,  Padre. 
And  by  the  way,  Herr  Rosen  begged  me  to 
present  his  regrets.  He  is  leaving  Bellaggio  in 
the  morning." 

Nora  turned  her  face  once  more  to  the  win 
dow. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    APPLE  OF    DISCORD 

^'TTT  is  all  very  petty,  my  child,"  said  the 
JL    padre.     "  Life   is   made   up   of   bigger 
things;  the  little  ones  should  be  ignored." 

To  which  Nora  replied :  "  To  a  woman, 
the  little  things  are  everything;  they  are  the 
daily  routine,  the  expected,  the  necessary 
things.  What  you  call  the  big  things  in  life 
are  accidents.  And,  oh!  I  have  pride."  She 
folded  her  arms  across  her  heaving  bosom ;  for 
the  padre's  directness  this  morning  had  stirred 
her  deeply. 

"  Wilfulness  is  called  pride  by  some;  and 
stubbornness.  But  you  know,  as  well  as  I  do, 
that  yours  is  resentment,  anger,  indignation. 
.Yes,  you  have  pride,  but  it  has  not  been 
brought  into  this  affair.  Pride  is  that  within 
282 


THE  APPLE  OF  DISCORD       283 

which  prevents  us  from  doing  mean  or  sordid 
acts;  and  you  could  not  do  one  or  the  other 
if  you  tried.  The  sentiment  in  you  which 
should  be  developed  .  .  ." 

"Is  mercy?" 

"No;  justice,  the  patience  to  weigh  the 
right  or  wrong  of  a  thing." 

"  Padre,  I  have  eyes,  eyes ;  I  saw" 

He  twirled  the  middle  button  of  his  cassock. 
"  The  eyes  see  and  the  ears  hear,  but  these  are 
only  witnesses,  laying  the  matter  before  the 
court  of  the  last  resort,  which  is  the  mind. 
It  is  there  we  sift  the  evidence." 

"  He  had  the  insufferable  insolence  to  order 
Herr  Rosen  to  leave,"  going  around  the  barrier 
of  his  well-ordered  logic. 

"  Ah !  Now,  how  could  he  send  away  Herr 
Rosen  if  that  gentleman  had  really  preferred 
to  stay?" 

Nora  looked  confused. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  ?  I  suspected ;  so  I  ques 
tioned  him  last  night.  Had  I  been  in  his 


284     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

place,  I  should  have  chastised  Herr  Rosen  in 
stead  of  bidding  him  be  gone.  It  was  he." 

Nora  sat  down. 

"  Positively.  The  men  who  guarded  you 
were  two  actors  from  one  of  the  theaters. 
He  did  not  come  to  Versailles  because  he  was 
being  watched.  He  wras  found  and  sent  home 
the  night  before  your  release." 

"  I  am  sorry.     But  it  was  so  like  him" 

The  padre  spread  his  hands.  "  What  a  way 
women  have  of  modifying  either  good  or  bad 
impulses!  It  would  have  been  fine  of  you  to 
have  stopped  when  you  said  you  were  sorry." 

"  Padre,  one  would  believe  that  you  had 
taken  up  his  defense!  " 

"  If  I  had  I  should  have  to  leave  it  after 
to-day.  I  return  to  Rome  to-morrow  and 
shall  not  see  you  again  before  you  go  to 
America.  I  have  bidden  good-by  to  all  save 
you.  My  child,  my  last  admonition  is,  be  pa 
tient  ;  observe ;  guard  against  that  impulse  born 
in  your  blood  to  move  hastily,  to  form  opin- 


THE  APPLE  OF  DISCORD       285 

ions  without  solid  foundations.  Be  happy 
while  you  are  young,  for  old  age  is  happy  only 
in  that  reflected  happiness  of  recollection. 
Write  to  me,  here.  I  return  in  November. 
Benediclte?"  smiling. 

Nora  bowed  her  head  and  he  put  a  hand 
upon  it. 

"  And  listen  to  this,"  began  Harrigan,  turn 
ing  over  a  page.  "  '  It  is  considered  bad  form 
to  call  the  butler  to  your  side  when  you  are  a 
guest.  Catch  his  eye.  He  will  understand 
that  something  is  wanted.'  How's  that?  " 

"That's  the  way  to  live."  Courtlandt 
grinned,  and  tilted  back  his  chair  until  it  rested 
against  the  oak. 

The  morning  was  clear  and  mild.  Fresh 
snow  lay  upon  the  mountain  tops;  later  it 
would  disappear.  The  fountain  tinkled,  and 
swallows  darted  hither  and  thither  under  the 
sparkling  spray.  The  gardeners  below  in  the 
vegetable  patch  were  singing.  By  the  door  of 


286     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

the  villa  sat  two  old  ladies,  breakfasting  in  the 
sunshine.  There  was  a  hint  of  lavender  in  the 
lazy  drifting  air.  A  dozen  yards  away  sat 
Abbott,  two  or  three  brushes  between  his  teeth 
and  one  in  his  hand.  A  little  behind  was 
Celeste,  sewing  posies  upon  one  of  those 
squares  of  linen  toward  which  all  women  in 
their  idle  moments  are  inclined,  and  which, 
on  finishing,  they  immediately  stow  away  in 
the  bottom  of  some  trunk  against  the  day  when 
they  have  a  home  of  their  own,  or  marry,  or 
find  some  one  ignorant  enough  to  accept  it  as 
a  gift. 

"  '  And  when  in  doubt,'  "  continued  Harri- 
gan,  " '  watch  how  other  persons  use  their 
forks.'  Can  you  beat  it?  And  say,  honest, 
Molly  bought  that  for  me  to  read  and  study. 
And  I  never  piped  the  subtitle  until  this  morn 
ing.  '  Advice  to  young  ladies  upon  going  into 
society.'  Huh?"  Harrigan  slapped  his  knee 
with  the  book  and  roared  out  his  keen  enjoy 
ment.  Somehow  he  seemed  to  be  more  at 


THE  APPLE  OF  DISCORD       287 

ease  with  this  young  fellow  than  with  any 
other  man  he  had  met  in  years.  "  But  for  the 
love  of  Mike,  don't  say  anything  to  Molly," 
fearfully.  "  Oh,  she  means  the  best  in  the 
world,"  contritely.  "  I'm  always  embarrass 
ing  her ;  shoe-strings  that  don't  match,  a  busted 
stud  in  my  shirt-front,  and  there  isn't  a  pair 
of  white-kids  made  that'll  stay  whole  more 
than  five  minutes  on  these  paws.  I  suppose  it's 
because  I  don't  think.  After  all,  I'm  only  a 
retired  pug."  The  old  fellow's  eyes  sparkled 
suspiciously.  "  The  best  two  women  in  all 
the  world,  and  I  don't  want  them  to  be 
ashamed  of  me." 

"  Why,  Mr.  Harrigan,"  said  Courtlandt,  let 
ting  his  chair  fall  into  place  so  that  he  could 
lay  a  hand  affectionately  upon  the  other's  knee, 
"  neither  of  them  would  be  worth  their  salt  if 
they  ever  felt  ashamed  of  you.  What  do  you 
care  what  strangers  think  or  say  ?  You  know. 
You've  seen  life.  You've  stepped  off  the  stage 
and  carried  with  you  the  recollection  of  decent 


288     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

living,  of  playing  square,  of  doing  the  best  you 
could.  The  worst  scoundrels  I  ever  met  never 
made  any  mistake  with  their  forks.  Perhaps 
you  don't  know  it,  but  my  father  became  rich 
because  he  could  judge  a  man's  worth  almost 
at  sight.  And  he  kept  this  fortune  and  added 
to  it  because  he  chose  half  a  dozen  friends 
and  refused  to  enlarge  the  list.  If  you  became 
his  friend,  he  had  good  reason  for  making  you 
such." 

"  Well,  we  did  have  some  good  times  to 
gether,"  Harrigan  admitted,  with  a  glow  in 
his  heart.  "  And  I  guess  after  all  that  I'll  go 
to  the  ball  with  Molly.  I  don't  mind  teas  like 
we  had  at  the  colonel's,  but  dinners  and  balls 
I  have  drawn  the  line  at.  I'll  take  the  plunge 
to-night.  There's  always  some  place  for  a 
chap  to  smoke." 

"At  the  Villa  Rosa?  I'll  be  there  myself; 
and  any  time  you  are  in  doubt,  don't  be  afraid 
to  question  me." 

"  You're  in  class  A,"  heartily.     "  But  there's 


THE  APPLE  OF  DISCORD       289 

one  thing  that  worries  me, —  Nora.  She's 
gone  up  so  high,  and  she's  such  a  wonderful 
girl,  that  all  the  men  in  Christendom  are  hik 
ing  after  her.  And  some  of  'em.  .  .  . 
Well,  Molly  says  it  isn't  good  form  to  wallop 
a  man  over  here.  Why,  she  went  on  her  lone 
some  to  India  and  Japan,  with  nobody  but  her 
maid ;  and  never  put  us  hep  until  she  landed  in 
Bombay.  The  men  out  that  way  aren't  the 
best.  East  of  Suez,  you  know.  And  that 
chap  yesterday,  Herr  Rosen.  Did  you  see  the 
way  he  hiked  by  me  when  I  let  him  in?  He 
took  me  to  be  the  round  number  before  one. 
And  he  didn't  speak  a  dozen  words  to  any  but 
Nora.  Not  that  I  mind  that ;  but  it  was  some 
thing  in  the  way  he  did  it  that  scratched  me 
the  wrong  way.  The  man  who  thinks  he's 
going  to  get  Nora  by  walking  over  me,  has  got 
a  guess  coming.  Of  course,  it's  meat  and 
drink  to  Molly  to  have  sons  of  grand  dukes 
and  kings  trailing  around.  She  says  it  gives 
tone." 


290     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  Isn't  she  afraid  sometimes?  " 

"Afraid?  I  should  say  not !  There's  only 
three  things  that  Molly's  afraid  of  these  days: 
a  spool  of  thread,  a  needle,  and  a  button." 

Courtlandt  laughed  frankly.  "  I  really 
don't  think  you  need  worry  about  Herr  Rosen. 
He  has  gone,  and  he  will  not  come  back." 

"  Say !  I'll  bet  a  dollar  it  was  you  who 
shoo'd  him  off." 

"  Yes.  But  it  was  undoubtedly  an  imperti 
nence  on  my  part,  and  I'd  rather  you  would 
not  disclose  my  officiousness  to  Miss  Harri- 
gan." 

"Piffle!  If  you  knew  him  you  had  a  per 
fect  right  to  pass  him  back  his  ticket.  Who 
was  he?  " 

Courtlandt  poked  at  the  gravel  with  his  cane. 

"  One  of  the  big  guns  ?" 

Courtlandt  nodded. 

"  So  big  that  he  couldn't  have  married  my 
girl  even  if  he  loved  her?  " 

"  Yes.     As  big  as  that." 


THE  APPLE  OF  DISCORD       291 

Harrigan  riffled  the  leaves  of  his  book. 
"  What  do  you  say  to  going  down  to  the  hotel 
and  having  a  game  of  bassica,  as  they  call 
billiards  here?  " 

"  Nothing  would  please  me  better,"  said 
Courtlandt,  relieved  that  Harrigan  did  not 
press  him  for  further  revelations. 

"  Nora  is  studying  a  new  opera,  and 
Molly-O  is  ragging  the  village  dressmaker. 
It's  only  half  after  ten,  and  we  can  whack  'em 
around  until  noon.  I  warn  you,  I'm  some 
thing  of  a  shark." 

"  I'll  lay  you  the  cigars  that  I  beat  you." 

"You're  on!" 

Harrigan  put  the  book  in  his  pocket,  and  the 
two  of  them  made  for  the  upper  path,  not, 
however,  without  waving  a  friendly  adieu  to 
Celeste,  who  was  watching  them  with  much 
curiosity. 

For  a  moment  Nora  became  visible  in  the 
window.  Her  expression  did  not  signify  that 
the  sight  of  the  men  together  pleased  her.  On 


292     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

the  contrary,  her  eyes  burned  and  her  brow 
was  ruffled  by  several  wrinkles  which  threat 
ened  to  become  permanent  if  the  condition  of 
affairs  continued  to  remain  as  it  was.  To 
her  the  calm  placidity  of  the  man  was  nothing 
less  than  monumental  impudence.  How  she 
hated  him;  how  bitterly,  how  intensely  she 
hated  him!  She  withdrew  from  the  window 
without  having  been  seen. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  two  finer  specimens  of 
man?"  Celeste  asked  of  Abbott. 

"What?  Who?"  mumbled  Abbott,  whose 
forehead  was  puckered  with  impatience. 
"  Oh,  those  two  ?  They  are  well  set  up.  But 
what  the  deuce  is  the  matter  with  this  fore 
ground  ?  "  taking  the  brushes  from  his  teeth. 
"  I've  been  hammering  away  at  it  for  a  week, 
and  it  does  not  get  there  yet." 

Celeste  rose  and  laid  aside  her  work.  She 
stood  behind  him  and  studied  the  picture 
through  half -closed  critical  eyes.  "  You  have 
painted  it  over  too  many  times."  Then  she 


THE  APPLE  OF  DISCORD       293 

looked  down  at  the  shapely  head.  Ah,  the 
longing  to  put  her  hands  upon  it,  to  run  her 
fingers  through  the  tousled  hair,  to  touch  it 
with  her  lips !  But  no !  "  Perhaps  you  are 
tired;  perhaps  you  have  worked  too  hard. 
Why  not  put  aside  your  brushes  for  a  week  ?  " 

"  I've  a  good  mind  to  chuck  it  into  the  lake. 
I  simply  can't  paint  any  more."  He  flung 
down  the  brushes.  "  I'm  a  fool,  Celeste,  a 
fool.  I'm  crying  for  the  moon,  that's  what 
the  matter  is.  What's  the  use  of  beating 
about  the  bush?  You  know  as  well  as  I  do 
that  it's  Nora." 

Her  heart  contracted,  and  for  a  little  while 
she  could  not  see  him  clearly. 

"  But  what  earthly  chance  have  I  ?  "  he  went 
on,  innocently  but  ruthlessly.  "  No  one  can 
help  loving  Nora." 

"  No,"  in  a  small  voice. 

"It's  all  rot,  this  talk  about  affinities. 
There's  always  some  poor  devil  left  outside. 
But  who  can  help  loving  Nora  ?  "  he  repeated. 


294     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"Who  indeed!" 

"  And  there's  not  the  least  chance  in  the 
world  for  me." 

"  You  never  can  tell  until  you  put  it  to  the 
test." 

"  Do  you  think  I  have  a  chance  ?  Is  it  pos* 
sible  that  Nora  may  care  a  little  for  me  ?  >r 
He  turned  his  head  toward  her  eagerly. 

"  Who  knows  ?  "  She  wanted  him  to  have 
it  over  with,  to  learn  the  truth  that  to  Nora 
Harrigan  he  would  never  be  more  than  an 
amiable  comrade.  He  would  then  have  none 
to  turn  to  but  her.  What  mattered  it  if  her 
own  heart  ached  so  she  might  soothe  the  hurt 
in  his?  She  laid  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  so 
lightly  that  he  was  only  dimly  conscious  of 
the  contact. 

"  It's  a  rummy  old  world.  Here  I've  gone 
alone  all  these  years  .  .  ." 

"  Twenty-six !  "  smiling. 

"  Well,  that's  a  long  time.  Never  bothered 
my  head  about  a  woman.  Selfish,  perhaps. 


THE  APPLE  OF  DISCORD       295 

Had  a  good  time,  came  and  went  as  I  pleased. 
And  then  I  met  Nora." 

"  Yes." 

"If  only  she'd  been  stand-offish,  like  these 
other  singers,  why,  I'd  have  been  all  right 
to-day.  But  she's  such  a  brick!  She's  such 
a  good  fellow!  She  treats  us  all  alike;  sings 
when  we  ask  her  to ;  always  ready  for  a  romp. 
Think  of  her  making  us  all  take  the  Kneip- 
cure  the  other  night!  And  we  marched 
around  the  fountain  singing  *  Mary  had  a  little 
lamb.'  Barefooted  in  the  grass!  When  a 
man  marries  he  doesn't  want  a  wife  half  so 
much  as  a  good  comrade;  somebody  to  slap 
him  on  the  back  in  the  morning  to  hearten  him 
up  for  the  day's  work;  and  to  cuddle  him  up 
when  he  comes  home  tired,  or  disappointed, 
or  unsuccessful.  No  matter  what  mood  he's 
in.  Is  my  English  getting  away  from  you  ?  " 

"No;  I  understand  all  you  say."  Her 
hand  rested  a  trifle  heavier  upon  his  shoulder, 
that  was  all. 


296     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  Nora  would  be  that  kind  of  a  wife. 
'  Honor,  anger,  valor,  fire,'  as  Stevenson  says. 
Hang  the  picture;  what  am  I  going  to  do  with 
it?" 

"  '  Honor,  anger,  valor,  fire/  "  Celeste  re 
peated  slowly.  "  Yes,  that  is  Nora."  A  bit 
ter  little  smile  moved  her  lips  as  she  recalled 
the  happenings  of  the  last  two  days.  But  no; 
he  must  find  out  for  himself;  he  must  meet  the 
hurt  from  Nora,  not  from  her.  "  How  long, 
Abbott,  have  you  known  your  friend  Mr. 
Courtlandt?" 

"  Boys  together,"  playing  a  light  tattoo  with 
his  mahl-stick. 

"How  old  is  he?" 

"  About  thirty-two  or  three." 

"  He  is  very  rich  ?  " 

"  Oceans  of  money ;  throws  it  away,  but  not 
fast  enough  to  get  rid  of  it." 

"  He  is  what  you  say  in  English  .  .  . 
wild?" 

"Well,"  with  mock  gravity,   "I  shouldn't 


THE  APPLE  OF  DISCORD       297 

like  to  be  the  tiger  that  crossed  his  path. 
Wild ;  that's  the  word  for  it." 

"  You  are  laughing.  Ah,  I  know !  I 
should  say  dissipated." 

"  Courtlandt  ?  Come,  now,  Celeste ;  does  he 
look  dissipated  ?  " 

"  No-o." 

"  He  drinks  when  he  chooses,  he  flirts  with 
a  pretty  woman  when  he  chooses,  he  smokes 
the  finest  tobacco  there  is  when  he  chooses; 
and  he  gives  them  all  up  when  he  chooses. 
He  is  like  the  seasons ;  he  comes  and  goes,  and 
nobody  can  change  his  habits." 

"He  has  had  no  affair?" 

"  Why,  Courtlandt  hasn't  any  heart.  It's  a 
mechanical  device  to  keep  his  blood  in  circula 
tion  ;  that's  all.  I  am  the  most  intimate  friend 
he  has,  and  yet  I  know  no  more  than  you  how 
he  lives  and  where  he  goes." 

She  let  her  hand  fall  from  his  shoulder. 
She  was  glad  that  he  did  not  know. 

"  But  look !  "  she  cn^d  in  warning. 


298     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

Abbott  looked. 

A  woman  was  coming  serenely  down  the 
path  from  the  wooded  promontory,  a  woman 
undeniably  handsome  in  a  cedar-tinted  linen 
dress,  exquisitely  fashioned,  with  a  touch  of 
vivid  scarlet  on  her  hat  and  a  most  tantalizing 
flash  of  scarlet  ankle.  It  was  Flora  Desimone, 
fresh  from  her  morning  bath  and  a  substantial 
breakfast.  The  errand  that  had  brought  her 
from  Aix-les-Bains  was  confessedly  a  merci 
ful  one.  But  she  possessed  the  dramatist's 
instinct  to  prolong  a  situation.  Thus,  to  make 
her  act  of  mercy  seem  infinitely  larger  than  it 
was,  she  was  determined  first  to  cast  the  Apple 
of  Discord  into  this  charming  corner  of  Eden. 
The  Apple  of  Discord,  as  every  man  knows,  is 
the  only  thing  a  woman  can  throw  with  any 
accuracy. 

The  artist  snatched  up  his  brushes,  and 
ruined  the  painting  forthwith,  for  all  time. 
The  foreground  was,  in  his  opinion,  beyond 
redemption;  so,  with  a  savage  humor,  he  rap- 


THE  APPLE  OF  DISCORD       299 

idly  limned  in  a  score  of  impossible  trees, 
turned  midday  into  sunset,  with  a  riot  of  colors 
which  would  have  made  the  Chinese  New-year 
in  Canton  a  drab  and  sober  event  in  compari 
son.  He  hated  Flora  Desimone,  as  all  Nora's 
adherents  most  properly  did,  but  with  a  hatred 
wholly  reflective  and  adapted  to  Nora's  moods. 

'  You  have  spoiled  it !  "  cried  Celeste.  She 
had  watched  the  picture  grow,  and  to  see  it 
ruthlessly  destroyed  this  way  hurt  her. 
"How  could  you!" 

"  Worst  I  ever  did."  He  began  to  change 
the  whole  effect,  chuckling  audibly  as  he 
worked.  Sunset  divided  honors  with  moon 
light.  It  was  no  longer  incongruous;  it  was 
ridiculous.  He  leaned  back  and  laughed. 
"  I'm  going  to  send  it  to  L'Asino,  and  call  it 
an  afterthought." 

"  Give  it  to  me." 

"What?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Nonsense !     I'm  going  to  touch  a  match  to 


300     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

it.  I'll  give  you  that  picture  with  the  lavender 
in  bloom." 

"  I  want  this." 

"  But  you  can  not  hang  it." 

"  I  want  it." 

"  Well ! "  The  more  he  learned  about 
women  the  farther  out  of  mental  reach  they 
seemed  to  go.  Why  on  earth  did  she  want 
this  execrable  daub  ?  "  You  may  have  it ;  but 
all  the  same,  I'm  going  to  call  an  oculist  and 
have  him  examine  your  eyes." 

"  Why,  it  is  the  Signorina  Fournier !  " 

In  preparing  studiously  to  ignore  Flora 
Desimone's  presence  they  had  forgotten  all 
about  her. 

"  Good  morning,  Signora,"  said  Celeste  in 
Italian. 

"  And  the  Signore  Abbott,  the  painter, 
also !  "  The  Calabrian  raised  what  she  con 
sidered  her  most  deadly  weapon,  her  lorgnette. 

Celeste  had  her  fancy-work  instantly  in  her 
two  hands;  Abbott's  were  occupied;  Flora's 


THE  APPLE  OF  DISCORD       301 

hands  were  likewise  engaged;  thus,  the  insipid 
mockery  of  hand-shaking  was  nicely  and  ex 
cusably  avoided. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Flora,  squinting. 

"  It  is  a  new  style  of  the  impressionist  which 
I  began  this  morning,"  soberly. 

"  It  looks  very  natural,"  observed  Flora. 

"  Natural ! "  Abbott  dropped  his  mahl- 
stick. 

"  It  is  Vesuv',  is  it  not,  on  a  cloudy  day?  " 

This  was  too  much  for  Abbott's  gravity,  and 
he  laughed. 

"  It  was  not  necessary  to  spoil  a  good  pic 
ture  ...  on  my  account,"  said  Flora, 
closing  the  lorgnette  with  a  snap.  Her  great 
dark  eyes  were  dreamy  and  contemplative  like 
a  cat's,  and,  as  every  one  knows,  a  cat's  eye  is 
the  most  observing  of  all  eyes.  It  is  quite  in 
the  order  of  things,  since  a  cat's  attitude  to 
ward  the  world  is  by  need  and  experience 
wholly  defensive. 

'  The  Signora  is  wrong.     I  did  not  spoil  it 


302     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

on  her  account,  It  was  past  helping  yester 
day.  But  I  shall,  however,  rechristen  it  Ve 
suvius,  since  it  represents  an  eruption  of 
temper." 

Flora  tapped  the  handle  of  her  parasol  with 
the  lorgnette.  It  was  distinctly  a  sign  of  ap 
proval.  These  Americans  were  never  slow- 
witted.  She  swung  the  parasol  to  and  fro, 
slowly,  like  a  pendulum. 

"  It  is  too  bad,"  she  said,  her  glance  roving 
over  the  white  walls  of  the  villa. 

"  It  was  irrevocably  lost,"  Abbott  declared. 

"  No,  no ;  I  do  not  mean  the  picture.  I  am 
thinking  of  La  Toscana.  Her  voice  was  really 
superb ;  and  to  lose  it  entirely  ...  ! " 
She  waved  a  sympathetic  hand. 

Abbott  was  about  to  rise  up  in  vigorous  pro 
test.  But  fate  itself  chose  to  rebuke  Flora. 
From  the  window  came — "  Sai  cos'  ebbe 
cuore!" — sung  as  only  Nora  could  sing  it. 

The  ferrule  of  Flora  Desimone's  parasol  bit 
deeply  into  the  clover-turf. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE   BALL   AT    THE   VILLA 

"T~"\O   you   know   the   Duchessa?"   asked 

-L^   Flora  Desimone. 

"  Yes."  It  was  three  o'clock  the  same 
afternoon.  The  duke  sat  with  his  wife  under 
the  vine-clad  trattoria  on  the  quay.  Between 
his  knees  he  held  his  Panama  hat,  which  was 
filled  with  ripe  hazelnuts.  He  cracked  them 
vigorously  with  his  strong  white  teeth  and 
filliped  the  broken  shells  into  the  lake,  where 
a  frantic  little  fish  called  agoni  darted  in  and 
about  the  slowly  sinking  particles.  "Why?" 
The  duke  was  not  any  grayer  than  he  had  been 
four  or  five  months  previous,  but  the  char 
acteristic  expression  of  his  features  had  un 
dergone  a  change.  He  looked  less  Jovian  than 
Job-like. 


304     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  I  want  you  to  get  an  invitation  to  her  ball 
at  the  Villa  Rosa  to-night." 

"  We  haven't  been  here  twenty- four  hours !  " 
in  mild  protest. 

"  What  has  that  to  do  with  it  ?  It  doesn't 
make  any  difference." 

"  I  suppose  not."  He  cracked  and  ate  a 
nut.  "Where  is  he?" 

"  He  has  gone  to  Milan.  He  left  hurriedly. 
He's  a  fool,"  impatiently. 

"  Not  necessarily.  Foolishness  is  one  thing 
and  discretion  is  another.  Oh,  well;  his  pres 
ence  here  was  not  absolutely  essential.  Pres 
ently  he  will  marry  and  settle  down  and  be  a 
good  boy."  The  next  nut  was  withered,  and 
he  tossed  it  aside.  "  Is  her  voice  really 
gone  ?  " 

"  No."  Flora  leaned  with  her  arms  upon 
the  railing  and  glared  at  the  wimpling  water. 
She  had  carried  the  Apple  of  Discord  up  the 
hill  and  down  again.  Nora  had  been  indis 
posed. 


THE  BALL  AT  THE  VILLA      305 

"  I  am  glad  of  that." 

She  turned  the  glare  upon  him. 

"  I  am  very  glad  of  that,  considering  your 
part  in  the  affair." 

"Michael     .     .     .!" 

"  Be  careful.  Michael  is  always  a  prelude 
to  a  temper.  Have  one  of  these,"  offering  a 
nut. 

She  struck  it  rudely  from  his  hand. 

"  Sometimes  I  am  tempted  to  put  my  two 
hands  around  that  exquisite  neck  of  yours." 

"  Try  it." 

"  No,  I  do  not  believe  it  would  be  wise.  But 
if  ever  I  find  out  that  you  have  lied  to  me, 
that  you  loved  the  fellow  and  married  me  out 
of  spite  .  .  ."  He  completed  the  sentence 
by  suggestively  crunching  a  nut. 

The  sullen  expression  on  her  face  gave  place 
to  a  smile.  "  I  should  like  to  see  you  in  a 
rage." 

"  No,  my  heart ;  you  would  like  nothing  of 
the  sort.  I  understand  you  better  than  you 


306     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

know;  that  accounts  for  my  patience.  You 
are  Italian.  You  are  caprice  and  mood.  I 
come  from  a  cold  land.  If  ever  I  do  get 
angry,  run,  run  as  fast  as  ever  you  can." 

Flora  was  not,  among  other  things,  frivolous 
or  light-headed.  There  was  an  earthquake 
hidden  somewhere  in  this  quiet  docile  man,  and 
the  innate  deviltry  of  the  woman  was  always 
trying  to  dig  down  to  it.  But  she  never  de 
ceived  herself.  Some  day  this  earthquake 
would  open  up  and  devour  her. 

"  I  hate  him.  He  snubbed  me.  I  have  told 
you  that  a  thousand  times." 

He  laughed  and  rattled  the  nuts  in  his  hat. 

"  I  want  you  to  get  that  invitation." 

"And  if  I  do  not?" 

"  I  shall  return  immediately  to  Paris." 

"  And  break  your  word  to  me  ?  " 

"As  easily  as  you  break  one  of  these  huts." 

"  And  if  I  get  the  invitation?  " 

"  I  shall  fulfil  my  promise  to  the  letter.  I 
will  tell  her  as  I  promised." 


THE  BALL  AT  THE  VILLA      307 

"Out  of  love  for  me?" 

"  Out  of  love  for  you,  and  because  the  play 
no  longer  interests  me." 

"  I  wonder  what  new  devilment  is  at  work 
in  your  mind?  " 

"  Michael,  I  do  not  want  to  get  into  a  tem 
per.  It  makes  lines  in  my  face.  I  hate  this 
place.  It  is  dead.  I  want  life,  and  color,  and 
music.  I  want  the  rest  of  September  in 
Ostend." 

"  Paris,  Capri,  Taormina,  Ostend ;  I  marvel 
if  ever  you  will  be  content  to  stay  in  one  place 
long  enough  for  me  to  get  my  breath?  " 

"  My  bear,  I  am  young.  One  of  these  days 
I  shall  be  content  to  sit  by  your  great  Russian 
fireplace  and  hold  your  hand." 

"  Hold  it  now." 

She  laughed  and  pressed  his  hand  between 
her  own.  "  Michael,  look  me  straight  in  the 
eyes."  He  did  so  vvillingly  enough.  "  There 
is  no  other  man.  And  if  you  ever  look  at  an 
other  womar  Well !  " 


308     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  I'll  send  over  for  the  invitation."  He 
stuffed  his  pockets  with  nuts  and  put  on  his 
hat 

Flora  then  proceeded  secretly  to  polish  once 
more  the  Apple  of  Discord  which,  a  deal  tar 
nished  for  lack  of  use,  she  had  been  compelled 
to  bring  down  from  the  promontory. 

"  Am  I  all  right  ?  "  asked  Harrigan. 

Courtlandt  nodded.  "  You  look  like  a 
soldier  in  mufti,  and  more  than  that,  like  the 
gentleman  that  you  naturally  are,"  quite  sin 
cerely. 

The  ex-gladiator  blushed.  "  This  is  the  re 
ception-room.  There's  the  ballroom  right 
out  there.  The  smoking-room  is  on  the  other 
side.  Now,  how  in  the  old  Han-y  am  I  going 
to  get  across  without  killing  some  one  ?  " 

Courtlandt  resisted  the  desire  to  laugh. 
"  Supposing  you  let  me  piL.  you  over?  " 

"  You're  the  referee.     Ring  the  gong." 

"  Come  on,  then." 


THE  BALL  AT  THE  VILLA      309 

"What!  while  they  are  dancing?"  backing 
away  in  dismay. 

The  other  caught  him  by  the  arm.  "  Come 
on." 

And  in  and  out  they  went,  hither  and 
thither,  now  dodging,  now  pausing  to  let  the 
swirl  pass,  until  at  length  Harrigan  found 
himself  safe  on  shore,  in  the  dim  cool  smoking- 
room. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  did  it,"  admiringly. 

"  I'll  drop  in  every  little  while  to  see  how 
you  are  getting  on,"  volunteered  Courtlandt. 
"You  can  sit  by  the  door  if  you  care  to  see 
them  dance.  I'm  off  to  see  Mrs.  Harrigan  and 
tell  her  where  you  are.  Here's  a  cigar." 

Harrigan  turned  the  cigar  over  and  over  in 
his  fingers,  all  the  while  gazing  at  the  young 
man's  diminishing  back.  He  sighed.  That 
would  make  him  the  happiest  man  in  the  world. 
He  examined  the  carnelian  band  encircling 
the  six-inches  of  evanescent  happiness. 
"  What  do  you  think  of  that !  "  he  murmured. 


310     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  Same  brand  the  old  boy  used  to  smoke. 
And  if  he  pays  anything  less  than  sixty  apiece 
for  'em  at  wholesale,  I'll  eat  this  one."  Then 
he  directed  his  attention  to  the  casual  in 
spection  of  the  room.  A  few  elderly  men 
were  lounging  about.  His  sympathy  was  at 
once  mutely  extended;  it  was  plain  that  they 
too  had  been  dragged  out.  At  the  little 
smoker's  tabouret  by  the  door  he  espied  two 
chairs,  one  of  which  was  unoccupied;  and  he 
at  once  appropriated  it.  The  other  chair  was 
totally  obscured  by  the  bulk  of  the  man  who 
sat  in  it;  a  man,  bearded,  blunt-nosed,  passive, 
but  whose  eyes  were  bright  and  twinkling. 
Hanging  from  his  cravat  was  a  medal  of  some 
kind.  Harrigan  lighted  his  cigar,  and  gave 
himself  up  to  the  delights  of  it. 

"  They  should  leave  us  old  fellows  at  home," 
he  ventured. 

"  Perhaps,  in  most  cases,  the  women  would 
much  prefer  that." 

"  Foreigner,"  thought  Harrigan.     "  Well,  it 


THE  BALL  AT  THE  VILLA      311 

does  seem  that  the  older  we  get  the  greater 
obstruction  we  become." 

"  What  is  old  age?  "  asked  the  thick  but  not 
unpleasant  voice  of  the  stranger. 

"  It's  standing  aside.  Years  don't  count  at 
all.  A  man  is  as  young  as  he  feels." 

"  And  a  woman  as  old  as  she  looks ! " 
laughed  the  other. 

"  Now,  I  don't  feel  old,  and  I  am  fifty-one." 

The  man  with  the  beard  shot  an  admiring 
glance  across  the  tabouret.  "  You  are  extraor 
dinarily  well  preserved,  sir.  You  do  not  seem 
older  than  I,  and  I  am  but  forty." 

"  The  trouble  is,  over  here  you  play  cards 
all  night  in  stuffy  rooms  and  eat  too  many 
sauces."  Harrigan  had  read  this  somewhere, 
and  he  was  pleased  to  think  that  he  could  re 
call  it  so  fittingly. 

"  Agreed.  You  Americans  are  getting  out 
in  the  open  more  than  any  other  white  people." 

"  Wonder  how  he  guessed  I  was  from  the 
States  ?  "  Aloud,  Harrigan  said :  "  You 


3i2     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

don't  look  as  though  you'd  grow  any  older  in 
the  next  ten  years." 

"  That  depends."  The  bearded  man  sighed 
and  lighted  a  fresh  cigarette.  "  There's  a 
beautiful  young  woman,"  with  an  indicative 
gesture  toward  the  ballroom. 

Harrigan  expanded.  It  was  Nora,  dancing 
with  the  Barone. 

"  She's  the  most  beautiful  young  woman  in 
the  world,"  enthusiastically. 

"  Ah,  you  know  her?  "  interestedly. 

"  I  am  her  father !  " —  as  Louis  XIV  might 
have  said,  "  I  am  the  State." 

The  bearded  man  smiled.  "  Sir,  I  con 
gratulate  you  both." 

Courtlandt  loomed  in  the  doorway.  "  Com 
fortable?" 

"  Perfectly.  Good  cigar,  comfortable  chair, 
fine  view." 

The  duke  eyed  Courtlandt  through  the  pall 
of  smoke  which  he  had  purposefully  blown 
forth.  He  questioned,  rather  amusedly,  what 


THE  BALL  AT  THE  VILLA      313 

would  have  happened  had  he  gone  down  to 
the  main  hall  that  night  in  Paris  ?  Among  the 
few  things  he  admired  was  a  well-built  hand 
some  man.  Courtlandt  on  his  part  pretended 
that  he  did  not  see. 

"  You'll  find  the  claret  and  champagne 
punches  in  the  hall,"  suggested  Courtlandt. 

"  Not  for  mine !     Run  away  and  dance." 

"  Good-by,  then."     Courtlandt  vanished. 

"  There's  a  fine  chap.  Edward  Courtlandt, 
the  American  millionaire."  It  was  not  pos 
sible  for  Harrigan  to  omit  this  awe-compelling 
elaboration. 

"Edward  Courtlandt."  The  stranger 
stretched  his  legs.  "  I  have  heard  of  him. 
Something  of  a  hunter." 

"  One  of  the  keenest." 

"  There  is  no  half-way  with  your  rich 
American:  either  his  money  ruins  him  or  he 
runs  away  from  it." 

"  There's  a  stunner,"  exclaimed  Harrigan. 
"  Wonder  how  she  got  here  ?  ;' 


THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"To  which  lady  do  you  refer?" 

"  The  one  in  scarlet.  She  is  Flora  Desi- 
mone.  She  and  my  daughter  sing  together 
sometimes.  Of  course  you  have  heard  of 
Eleonora  da  Toscana;  that's  my  daughter's 
stage  name.  The  two  are  not  on  very  good 
terms,  naturally." 

"  Quite  naturally,"  dryly. 

"  But  you  can't  get  away  from  the  Cala- 
brian's  beauty,"  generously. 

"  No."  The  bearded  man  extinguished  his 
cigarette  and  rose,  laying  a  carte-de-visite  on 
the  tabouret.  "  More,  I  should  not  care  to  get 
away  from  it.  Good  evening,"  pleasantly. 
The  music  stopped.  He  passed  on  into  the 
crowd. 

Harrigan  reached  over  and  picked  up  the 
card.  "  Suffering  shamrocks !  if  Molly  could 
only  see  me  now,"  he  murmured.  "  I  wonder 
if  I  made  any  breaks?  The  grand  duke,  and 
me  hobnobbing  with  him  like  a  waiter! 


THE  BALL  AT  THE  VILLA      315 

James,  this  is  all  under  your  hat.  We'll  keep 
the  card  where  Molly  won't  find  it." 

Young  men  began  to  drift  in  and  out.  The 
air  became  heavy  with  smoke,  the  prevailing 
aroma  being  that  of  Turkish  tobacco  of  which 
Harrigan  was  not  at  all  fond.  But  his  cigar 
was  so  good  that  he  was  determined  not  to 
stir  until  the  coal  began  to  tickle  the  end  of 
his  nose.  Since  Molly  knew  where  he  was 
there  was  no  occasion  to  worry. 

Abbott  came  in,  pulled  a  cigarette  case  out 
of  his  pocket,  and  impatiently  struck  a  match. 
.His  hands  shook  a  little,  and  the  flare  of  the 
match  revealed  a  pale  and  angry  countenance. 

"  Hey,  Abbott,  here's  a  seat.  Get  your  sec 
ond  wind." 

"  Thanks."  Abbott  dropped  into  the  chair 
and  smoked  quickly.  "  Very  stuffy  out  there. 
Too  many." 

"  You  look  it.     Having  a  good  time  ?  " 

"  Oh,  fine ! "  There  was  a  catch  in  the 
laugh  which  followed,  but  Harrigan's  ear  was 


3i6      THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

not  trained  for  these  subtleties  of  sound. 
"  How  are  you  making  out?  " 

"  I'm  getting  acclimated.  Where's  the 
colonel  to-night  ?  He  ought  to  be  around  here 
somewhere." 

"  I  left  him  a  few  moments  ago." 

"When  you  see  him  again,  send  him  in. 
He's  a  live  one,  and  I  like  to  hear  him  talk." 

"  I'll  go  at  once,"  crushing  his  cigarette  in 
the  Jeypore  bowl. 

"  What's  your  hurry  ?  You  look  like  a  man 
who  has  just  lost  his  job." 

"Been  steering  a  German  countess.  She 
was  wound  up  to  turn  only  one  way,  and  I  am 
groggy.  I'll  send  the  colonel  over.  By-by." 

"  Now,  what's  stung  the  boy  ?  " 

Nora  was  enjoying  herself  famously.  The 
men  hummed  around  her  like  bees  around  the 
sweetest  rose.  From  time  to  time  she  saw 
Courtlandt  hovering  about  the  outskirts.  She 
was  glad  he  had  come:  the  lepidopterist  is 
latent  or  active  in  most  women;  to  impale  the 


THE  BALL  AT  THE  VILLA     317 

butterfly,  the  moth  falls  easily  into  the  daily 
routine.  She  was  laughing  and  jesting  with 
the  men.  Her  mother  stood  by,  admiringly. 
This  time  Courtlandt  gently  pushed  his  way 
to  Nora's  side. 

"  May  I  have  a  dance  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  are  too  late,"  evenly.  She  was  be 
coming  used  to  the  sight  of  him,  much  to  her 
amazement. 

"  I  am  sorry." 

"  Why,  Nora,  I  didn't  know  that  your  card 
was  filled !  "  said  Mrs.  Harrigan.  She  had 
the  maternal  eye  upon  Courtlandt. 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  Nora  sweetly,  "  it  is 
a  fact." 

"  I  am  disconsolate,"  replied  Courtlandt, 
who  had  approached  for  form's  sake  only,  be 
ing  fully  prepared  for  a  refusal.  "  I  have  the 
unfortunate  habit  of  turning  up  late,"  with  a 
significance  which  only  Nora  understood. 

"  So,  those  who  are  late  must  suffer  the  con 
sequences." 

I 


318     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"Supper?" 

"  The  Barone  rather  than  you." 

The  music  began  again,  and  Abbott  whirled 
her  away.  She  was  dressed  in  Burmese  taf 
feta,  a  rich  orange.  In  the  dark  of  her  beauti 
ful  black  hair  there  was  the  green  luster  of 
emeralds;  an  Indian-princess  necklace  of  emer 
alds  and  pearls  was  looped  around  her  daz 
zling  white  throat.  Unconsciously  Courtlandt 
sighed  audibly,  and  Mrs.  Harrigan  heard  this 
note  of  unrest. 

"  Who  is  that  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Harrigan. 

"  Flora  Desimone's  husband,  the  duke.  He 
and  Mr.  Harrigan  were  having  quite  a  con 
versation  in  the  smoke-room." 

"  What !  "  in  consternation. 

"  They  were  getting  along  finely  when  I  left 
them." 

Mrs.  Harrigan  felt  her  heart  sink.  The 
duke  and  James  together  meant  nothing  short 
of  a  catastrophe;  for  James  would  not  know 
whom  he  was  addressing,  and  would  make  all 


THE  BALL  AT  THE  VILLA     319 

manner  of  confidences.  She  knew  something 
would  happen  if  she  let  him  out  of  her  sight. 
He  was  eternally  talking  to  strangers. 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  Mr.  Harrigan  that 
I  wish  to  see  him  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all." 

Nora  stopped  at  the  end  of  the  ballroom. 
"  Donald,  let  us  go  out  into  the  garden.  I 
want  a  breath  of  air.  Did  you  see  her?  " 

"  Couldn't  help  seeing  her.  It  was  the  duke, 
I  suppose.  It  appears  that  he  is  an  old  friend 
of  the  duchess.  We'll  go  through  the  con 
servatory.  It's  a  short-cut." 

The  night  was  full  of  moonshine;  it  danced 
upon  the  water;  it  fired  the  filigree  tops  of  the 
solemn  cypress;  it  laced  the  lawn  with  quiver 
ing  shadows ;  and  heavy  hung  the  cloying  per 
fume  of  the  box- wood  hedges. 

"  O  bellissima  notta! "  she  sang.  "  Is  it  not 
glorious  ?  " 

"  Nora,"  said  Abbott,  leaning  suddenly 
toward  her. 


320     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  Don't  say  it.  Donald ;  please  don't.  Don't 
waste  your  love  on  me.  You  are  a  good  man, 
and  I  should  not  be  worthy  the  name  of 
woman  if  I  did  not  feel  proud  and  sad.  I 
want  you  always  as  a  friend;  and  if  you  de 
cide  that  can  not  be,  I  shall  lose  faith  in  every 
thing.  I  have  never  had  a  brother,  and  in 
these  two  short  years  I  have  grown  to  look 
on  you  as  one.  I  am  sorry.  But  if  you 
will  look  back  you  will  see  that  I  never  gave 
you  any  encouragement.  I  was  never  more 
than  your  comrade.  I  have  many  faults,  but 
I  am  not  naturally  a  coquette.  I  know  my 
heart;  I  know  it  well." 

"  Is  there  another  ?  "  in  despair. 

"  Once  upon  a  time,  Donald,  there  was. 
There  is  nothing  now  but  ashes.  I  am  tell 
ing  you  this  so  that  it  will  not  be  so  hard  for 
you  to  return  to  the  old  friendly  footing. 
You  are  a  brave  man.  Any  man  is  who  takes 
his  heart  in  his  hand  and  offers  it  to  a  woman. 


THE  BALL  AT  THE  VILLA      321 

You  are  going  to  take  my  hand  and  promise 
to  be  my  friend  always." 

"Ah,  Nora!" 

"  You  mustn't,  Donald.  I  can't  return  to 
the  ballroom  with  my  eyes  red.  You  will 
never  know  how  a  woman  on  the  stage  has 
to  fight  to  earn  her  bread.  And  that  part  is 
only  a  skirmish  compared  to  the  ceaseless  war 
men  wage  against  her.  She  has  only  the  forti 
fications  of  her  wit  and  her  presence  of  mind. 
Was  I  not  abducted  in  the  heart  of  Paris? 
And  but  for  the  cowardice  of  the  man,  who 
knows  what  might  have  happened?  If  I  have 
beauty,  God  gave  it  to  me  to  wear,  and  wear 
it  I  will.  My  father,  the  padre,  you  and  the 
Barone;  I  would  not  trust  any  other  men  liv 
ing.  I  am  often  unhappy,  but  I  do  not  in 
flict  this  unhappiness  on  others.  Be  you  the 
same.  Be  my  friend;  be  brave  and  fight  it 
out  of  your  heart."  Quickly  she  drew  his 
head  toward  her  and  lightly  kissed  the  fore- 


322     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

head.  "  There !  Ah,  Donald,  I  very  much 
need  a  friend." 

"  All  right,  Nora,"  bravely  indeed,  for  the 
pain  in  his  young  heart  cried  out  for  the  ends 
of  the  earth  in  which  to  hide.  "  All  right ! 
I'm  young;  maybe  I'll  get  over  it  in  time. 
Always  count  on  me.  You  wouldn't  mind 
going  back  to  the  ballroom  alone,  would  you? 
I've  got  an  idea  I'd  like  to  smoke  over  it.  No, 
I'll  take  you  to  the  end  of  the  conservatory  and 
come  back.  I  can't  face  the  rest  of  them  just 
now." 

Nora  had  hoped  against  hope  that  it  was 
only  infatuation,  but  in  the  last  few  days  she 
could  not  ignore  the  truth  that  he  really  loved 
her.  She  had  thrown  him  and  Celeste  together 
in  vain.  Poor  Celeste,  poor  lovely  Celeste, 
who  wore  her  heart  upon  her  sleeve,  patent 
to  all  eyes  save  Donald's!  Thus,  it  was  with 
defined  purpose  that  she  had  lured  him  this 
night  into  the  garden.  She  wanted  to  dis 
illusion  him. 


THE  BALL  AT  THE  VILLA     323 

The  Barone,  glooming  in  an  obscure  corner 
of  the  conservatory,  saw  them  come  in.  Ab 
bott's  brave  young  face  deceived  him.  At  the 
door  Abbott  smiled  and  bowed  and  returned 
to  the  garden.  The  Barone  rose  to  follow 
him.  He  had  committed  a  theft  of  which  he 
was  genuinely  sorry;  and  he  was  man  enough 
to  seek  his  rival  and  apologize.  But  fate  had 
chosen  for  him  the  worst  possible  time.  He 
had  taken  but  a  step  forward,  when  a  tableau 
formed  by  the  door,  causing  him  to  pause 
irresolutely. 

Nora  was  face  to  face  at  last  with  Flora 
Desimone. 

"  I  wish  to  speak  to  you,"  said  the  Italian 
abruptly. 

"  Nothing  you  could  possibly  say  would  in 
terest  me,"  declared  Nora,  haughtily  and  made 
as  if  to  pass. 

"  Do  not  be  too  sure,"  insolently. 

Their  voices  were  low,  but  they  reached  the 
ears  of  the  Barone,  who  wished  he  was  any- 


324     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

where  but  here.     He  moved  silently  behind 
the  palms  toward  the  exit. 

"  Let  me  be  frank.  I  hate  you  and  detest 
you  with  all  my  heart,"  continued  Flora.  "  f 
have  always  hated  you,  with  your  supercilious 
airs,  you,  whose  father  .  .  ." 

"  Don't  you  dare  to  say  an  ill  word  of 
him !  "  cried  Nora,  her  Irish  blood  throwing 
hauteur  to  the  winds.  "  He  is  kind  and  brave 
and  loyal,  and  I  am  proud  of  him.  Say  what 
you  will  about  me;  it  will  not  bother  me  in 
the  least." 

The  Barone  heard  no  more.  By  degrees  he 
had  reached  the  exit,  and  he  was  mightily  re 
lieved  to  get  outside.  The  Calabrian  had 
chosen  her  time  well,  for  the  conservatory  was 
practically  empty.  The  Barone's  eyes  searched 
the  shadows  and  at  length  discerned  Abbott 
leaning  over  the  parapet. 

"  Ah !  "  said  Abbott,  facing  about.  "  So  it 
is  you.  You  deliberately  scratched  off  my 
name  and  substituted  your  own.  It  was  the 


"  I  hate  you  and  detest  you  with  all  my.  heart." 


THE  BALL  AT  THE  VILLA      325 

act  of  a  contemptible  cad.     And  I  tell  you  here 
and  now.     A  cad !  " 

The  Barone  was  Italian.  He  had  sought 
Abbott  with  the  best  intentions;  to  apologize 
abjectly,  distasteful  though  it  might  be  to  his 
hot  blood.  Instead,  he  struck  Abbott  across 
the  mouth,  and  the  latter  promptly  knocked 
him  down. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

PISTOLS    FOR    TWO 

COURTLANDT  knocked  on  the  studio 
door. 

"  Come  in." 

He  discovered  Abbott,  stretched  out  upon 
the  lounge,  idly  picking  at  the  loose  plaster  in 
the  wall. 

"Hello!"  said  Abbott  carelessly.  "Help 
yourself  to  a  chair." 

Instead,  Courtlandt  walked  about  the  room, 
aimlessly.  He  paused  at  the  window;  he 
picked  up  a  sketch  and  studied  it  at  various 
angles ;  he  kicked  the  footstool  across  the  floor, 
not  with  any  sign  of  anger  but  with  a  serious 
ness  that  would  have  caused  Abbott  to  laugh, 
had  he  been  looking  at  his  friend.  He  con 
tinued,  however,  to  pluck  at  the  plaster.  He 
had  always  hated  and  loved  Courtlandt,  al- 
326 


PISTOLS  FOR  TWO  327 

ternately.  He  never  sought  to  analyze  this 
peculiar  cardiac  condition.  He  only  knew 
that  at  one  time  he  hated  the  man,  and  that 
at  another  he  would  have  laid  down  his  life 
for  him.  Perhaps  it  was  rather  a  passive 
jealousy  which  he  mistook  for  hatred.  Ab 
bott  had  never  envied  Courtlandt  his  riches; 
but  often  the  sight  of  Courtlandt's  physical 
superiority,  his  adaptability,  his  knowledge 
of  men  and  affairs,  the  way  he  had  of 
anticipating  the  unspoken  wishes  of  women, 
his  unembarrassed  gallantry,  these  attributes 
stirred  the  envy  of  which  he  was  always 
manly  enough  to  be  ashamed.  Courtlandt's 
unexpected  appearance  in  Bellaggio  had  also 
created  a  suspicion  which  he  could  not  mi 
nutely  define.  The  truth  was,  when  a  man 
loved,  every  other  man  became  his  enemy,  not 
excepting  her  father:  the  primordial  instinct 
has  survived  all  the  applications  of  veneer. 
So,  Abbott  was  not  at  all  pleased  to  see  his 
friend  that  morning. 


328     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

At  length  Courtlandt  returned  to  the  lounge. 
"  The  Barone  called  upon  me  this  morning." 

"Oh,  he  did?" 

"  I  think  you  had  better  write  him  an 
apology." 

Abbott  sat  up.  He  flung  the  piece  of  plaster 
violently  to  the  floor.  "  Apologize  ?  Well,  I 
like  your  nerve  to  come  here  with  that  kind 
of  wabble.  Look  at  these  lips!  Man,  he 
struck  me  across  the  mouth,  and  I  knocked  him 
down." 

"  It  was  a  pretty  good  wallop,  considering 
that  you  couldn't  see  his  face  very  well  in  the 
dark.  I  always  said  that  you  had  more  spunk 
to  the  square  inch  than  any  other  chap  I  know. 
But  over  here,  Suds,  as  you  know,  it's  different. 
You  can't  knock  down  an  officer  and  get  away 
with  it.  So,  you  just  sit  down  at  your  desk 
and  write  a  little  note,  saying  that  you  regret 
your  hastiness.  I'll  see  that  it  goes  through 
all  right.  Fortunately,  no  one  heard  of  the 
row." 


PISTOLS  FOR  TWO  329 

"I'll  see  you  both  farther!"  wrathfully. 
"  Look  at  these  lips,  I  say !  " 

"  Before  he  struck  you,  you  must  have  given 
provocation." 

"  Sha'n't  discuss  what  took  place.  Nor  will 
I  apologize." 

"That's  final?" 

"You  have  my  word  for  it." 

"  Well,  I'm  sorry.  The  Barone  is  a  decent 
sort.  He  gives  you  the  preference,  and  sug 
gests  that  you  select  pistols,  since  you  would 
be  no  match  for  him  with  rapiers." 

"  Pistols !  "  shouted  Abbott.  "  For  the  love 
of  glory,  what  are  you  driving  at?  " 

"  The  Barone  has  asked  me  to  be  his 
second.  And  I  have  despatched  a  note  to  the 
colonel,  advising  him  to  attend  to  your  side. 
I  accepted  the  Barone's  proposition  solely  that 
I  might  get  here  first  and  convince  you  that  an 
apology  will  save  you  a  heap  of  discomfort. 
The  Barone  is  a  first-rate  shot,  and  doubtless 
he  will  only  wing  you.  But  that  will  mean 


330     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

scandal  and  several  weeks  in  the  hospital,  to 
say  nothing  of  a  devil  of  a  row  with  the  civil 
authorities.  In  the  army  the  Italian  still 
fights  his  duello,  but  these  affairs  never  get 
into  the  newspapers,  as  in  France.  Seldom, 
however,  is  any  one  seriously  hurt.  They  are 
excitable,  and  consequently  a  good  shot  is 
likely  to  shoot  wildly  at  a  pinch.  So  there 
you  are,  my  boy." 

"  Are  you  in  your  right  mind  ?  Do  you 
mean  to  tell  me  that  you  have  come  here  to 
arrange  a  duel  ?  "  asked  Abbott,  his  voice  low 
and  a  bit  shaky. 

"  To  prevent  one.  So,  write  your  apology. 
Don't  worry  about  the  moral  side  of  the  ques 
tion.  It's  only  a  fool  who  will  offer  himself 
as  a  target  to  a  man  who  knows  how  to  shoot. 
You  couldn't  hit  the  broadside  of  a  barn  with 
a  shot-gun." 

Abbott  brushed  the  dust  from  his  coat  and 
got  up.  "  A  duel !  "  He  laughed  a  bit  hys 
terically.  Well,  why  not?  Since  Nora  could 


PISTOLS  FOR  TWO  331 

never  be  his,  there  was  no  future  for  him. 
He  might  far  better  serve  as  a  target  than 
to  go  on  living  with  the  pain  and  bitterness 
in  his  heart.  "  Very  well.  Tell  the  Barone 
my  choice  is  pistols.  He  may  set  the  time 
and  place  himself." 

"  Go  over  to  that  desk  and  write  that 
apology.  If  you  don't,  I  promise  on  my  part 
to  tell  Nora  Harrigan,  who,  I  dare  say,  is  at 
the  bottom  of  this,  innocently  or  otherwise." 

"Courtlandt!" 

"  I  mean  just  what  I  say.  Take  your 
.choice.  Stop  this  nonsense  yourself  like  a  rea 
sonable  human  being,  or  let  Nora  Harrigan 
stop  it  for  you.  There  will  be  no  duel,  not  if 
I  can  help  it." 

Abbott  saw  instantly  what  would  happen. 
Nora  would  go  to  the  Barone  and  beg  off  for 
him.  "  All  right !  I'll  write  that  apology. 
But  listen:  you  will  knock  hereafter  when 
you  enter  any  of  my  studios.  You've  kicked 
out  the  bottom  from  the  old  footing.  You  are 


332     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

not  the  friend  you  profess  to  be.  You  are 
making  me  a  coward  in  the  eyes  of  that 
damned  Italian.  He  will  never  understand 
this  phase  of  it."  Thereupon  Abbott  ran  over 
to  his  desk  and  scribbled  the  note,  sealing  it 
with  a  bang.  "  Here  you  are.  Perhaps  you 
had  best  go  at  once." 

"  Abby,  I'm  sorry  that  you  take  this  view." 

"  I  don't  care  to  hear  any  platitudes,  thank 
you." 

"  I'll  look  you  up  to-morrow,  and  on  my 
part  I  sha'n't  ask  for  any  apology.  In  a 
little  while  you'll  thank  me.  You  will  even 
laugh  with  me." 

"  Permit  me  to  doubt  that,"  angrily.  He 
threw  open  the  door. 

Courtlandt  was  too  wise  to  argue  further. 
He  had  obtained  the  object  of  his  errand,  and 
that  was  enough  for  the  present.  "  Sorry  you 
are  not  open  to  reason.  Good  morning." 

When  the  door  closed,  Abbott  tramped  the 
floor  and  vented  his  temper  on  the  much 


PISTOLS  FOR  TWO  333 

abused  footstool,  which  he  kicked  whenever  it 
came  in  the  line  of  his  march.  In  his  soul 
he  knew  that  Courtlandt  was  right.  More 
than  that,  he  knew  that  presently  he  would 
seek  him  and  apologize. 

Unfortunately,  neither  of  them  counted  on 
the  colonel. 

Without  being  quite  conscious  of  the  act, 
Abbott  took  down  from  the  wall  an  an 
cient  dueling-pistol,  cocked  it,  snapped  it,  and 
looked  it  over  with  an  interest  that  he  had 
never  before  bestowed  on  it.  And  the  colonel, 
bursting  into  the  studio,  found  him  absorbed 
in  the  contemplation  of  this  old  death-dealing 
instrument. 

"  Ha !  "  roared  the  old  war  dog.  "  Had  an 
idea  that  something  like  this  was  going  to 
happen.  Put  that  up.  You  couldn't  kill  any 
thing  with  that  unless  you  hit  'em  on  the 
head  with  it.  Leave  the  matter  to  me. 
I've  a  pair  of  pistols,  sighted  to  hit  a  shilling 
at  twenty  yards.  Of  course,  you  can't  fight 


334     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

him  with  swords.  He's  one  of  the  best  in 
all  Italy.  But  you've  just  as  good  a  chance  as 
he  has  with  pistols.  Nine  times  out  of  ten 
the  tyro  hits  the  bull's-eye,  while  the  crack 
goes  wild.  Just  you  sit  jolly  tight.  Who's 
his  second;  Courtlandt?" 

"  Yes."  Abbott  was  truly  and  completely 
bewildered. 

"  He  struck  you  first,  I  understand,  and 
you  knocked  him  down.  Good!  My  tennis- 
courts  are  out  of  the  way.  We  can  settle 
this  matter  to-morrow  morning  at  dawn. 
Ellicott  will  come  over  from  Cadenabbia  with 
his  saws.  He's  close-mouthed.  All  you  need 
to  do  is  to  keep  quiet.  You  can  spend  the 
night  at  the  villa  with  me,  and  I'll  give  you 
a  few  ideas  about  shooting  a  pistol.  Here; 
write  what  I  dictate."  He  pushed  Abbott  over 
to  the  desk  and  forced  him  into  the  chair. 
Abbott  wrote  mechanically,  as  one  hypnotized. 
The  colonel  seized  the  letter.  "  No  flowery 
sentences;  a  few  words  bang  at  the  mark. 


PISTOLS  FOR  TWO  335 

Come  up  to  the  villa  as  soon  as  you  can.  We'll 
jolly  well  cool  this  Italian's  blood." 

And  out  he  went,  banging  the  door.  There 
was  something  of  the  directness  of  a  bullet  in 
the  old  fellow's  methods. 

Literally,  Abbott  had  been  rushed  off  his 
feet.  The  moment  his  confusion  cleared  he 
saw  the  predicament  into  which  his  own 
stupidity  and  the  amiable  colonel's  impetuous 
good  offices  had  plunged  him.  He  was  hor 
rified.  Here  was  Courtlandt  carrying  the 
apology,  and  hot  on  his  heels  was  the  colonel, 
with  the  final  arrangements  for  the  meeting. 
He  ran  to  the  door,  bareheaded,  took  the  stairs 
three  and  four  at  a  bound.  But  the  energetic 
Anglo-Indian  had  gone  down  in  bounds  also; 
and  when  the  distracted  artist  reached  the 
street,  the  other  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Ap 
parently  there  was  nothing  left  but  to  send 
another  apology.  Rather  than  perform  so 
shameful  and  cowardly  an  act  he  would  have 
cut  off  his  hand. 


336     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

The  Barone,  pale  and  determined,  passed 
the  second  note  to  Courtlandt  who  was  con 
gratulating  himself  (prematurely  as  will  be 
seen)  on  the  peaceful  dispersion  of  the  war- 
clouds.  He  was  dumfounded. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,"  he  said  meekly.  He 
must  see  Abbott. 

"  A  moment,"  interposed  the  Barone  coldly. 
"If  it  is  to  seek  another  apology,  it  will  be 
useless.  I  refuse  to  accept.  Mr.  Abbott  will 
fight,  or  I  will  publicly  brand  him,  the  first 
opportunity,  as  a  coward." 

Courtlandt  bit  his  mustache.  "  In  that  case, 
I  shall  go  at  once  to  Colonel  Caxley- Webster." 

"  Thank  you.  I  shall  be  in  my  room  at  the 
villa  the  greater  part  of  the  day."  The 
Barone  bowed. 

Courtlandt  caught  the  colonel  as  he  was  en 
tering  his  motor-boat. 

"  Come  over  to  tiffin." 

"  Very  well ;  I  can  talk  here  better  than  any 
where  else." 


PISTOLS  FOR  TWO  337 

When  the  motor  began  its  racket,  Court- 
landt  pulled  the  colonel  over  to  him. 

"  Do  you  know  what  you  have  done  ?  " 

"  Done  ?  "  dropping  his  eye-glass. 

"  Yes.  Knowing  that  Abbott  would  have 
no  earthly  chance  against  the  Italian,  I  went 
to  him  and  forced  him  to  write  an  apology. 
And  you  have  blown  the  whole  thing  higher 
than  a  kite." 

The  colonel's  eyes  bulged.  "  Dem  it,  why 
didn't  the  young  fool  tell  me?  " 

"  Your  hurry  probably  rattled  him.  But 
what  are  we  going  to  do?  I'm  not  going  to 
have  the  boy  hurt.  I  love  him  as  a  brother; 
though,  just  now,  he  regards  me  as  a  mortal 
enemy.  Perhaps  I  am,"  moodily.  "  I  Have 
deceived  him,  and  somehow  —  blindly  it  is  true 
—  he  knows  it.  I  am  as  full  of  deceit  as  a 
pomegranate  is  of  seeds." 

"  Have  him  send  another  apology." 

"  The  Barone  is  thoroughly  enraged.  He 
would  refuse  to  accept  it,  and  said  so." 


338     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  Well,  dem  me  for  a  well-meaning  med 
dler!" 

"  With  pleasure,  but  that  will  not  stop  the 
row.  There  is  a  way  out,  but  it  appeals  to 
me  as  damnably  low." 

"Oh,  Abbott  will  not  run.  He  isn't  that 
kind." 

"  No,  he'll  not  run.  But  if  you  will  agree 
with  me,  honor  may  be  satisfied  without  either 
of  them  getting  hurt." 

"Women  beat  the  devil,  don't  they? 
What's  your  plan  ?  " 

Courtlandt  outlined  it. 

The  colonel  frowned.  "  That  doesn't  sound 
like  you.  Beastly  trick." 

"  I  know  it." 

"  We'll  lunch  first.  It  will  take  a  few  pegs 
to  get  that  idea  through  this  bally  head  of 
mine." 

When  Abbott  came  over  later  that  day,  he 
was  subdued  in  manner.  He  laughed  oc 
casionally,  smoked  a  few  cigars,  but  declined 


PISTOLS  FOR  TWO  339 

stimulants.  He  even  played  a  game  of  tennis 
creditably.  And  after  dinner  he  shot  a  hun 
dred  billiards.  The  colonel  watched  his  hands 
keenly.  There  was  not  the  slightest  indica 
tion  of  nerves. 

"  Hang  the  boy !  "  he  muttered.  "  I  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  myself.  There  isn't  a  bit 
of  funk  in  his  whole  make-up." 

•At  nine  Abbott  retired.  He  did  not  sleep 
very  well.  He  was  irked  by  the  morbid  idea 
that  the  Barone  was  going  to  send  the  bullet 
through  his  throat.  He  was  up  at  five.  He 
strolled  about  the  garden.  He  realized  that 
it  was  very  good  to  be  alive.  Once  he  gazed 
somberly  at  the  little  white  villa,  away  to 
the  north.  How  crisply  it  stood  out  against 
the  dark  foliage !  How  blue  the  water  was ! 
And  far,  far  away  the  serene  snowcaps! 
Nora  Harrigan  .  .  .  Well,  he  was  go 
ing  to  stand  up  like  a  man.  She  should 
never  be  ashamed  of  her  memory  of  him. 
If  he  went  out,  all  worry  would  be  at  an  end, 


340    THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

and  that  would  be  something.  What  a  mess 
he  had  made  of  things!  He  did  not  blame 
the  Italian.  A  duel!  he,  the  son  of  a  man 
who  had  invented  wash-tubs,  was  going  to 
fight  a  duel !  He  wanted  to  laugh ;  he  wanted 
to  cry.  Wasn't  he  just  dreaming?  Wasn't  it 
all  a  nightmare  out  of  which  he  would  pres 
ently  awake  ? 

"  Breakfast,  Sahib,"  said  Rao,  deferentially 
touching  his  arm. 

He  was  awake ;  it  was  all  true. 

"  You'll  want  coffee,"  began  the  colonel. 
"  Drink  as  much  as  you  like.  And  you'll  find 
the  eggs  good,  too."  The  colonel  wanted  to 
see  if  Abbott  ate  well. 

The  artist  helped  himself  twice  and  drank 
three  cups  of  coffee.  "  You  know,  I  suppose 
all  men  in  a  hole  like  this  have  funny  ideas. 
I  was  just  thinking  that  I  should  like  a  par 
tridge  and  a  bottle  of  champagne." 

"  We'll  have  that  for  tiffin,"  said  the  col- 


PISTOLS  FOR  TWO  341 

onel,  confidentially.  In  fact,  he  summoned 
the  butler  and  gave  the  order. 

"  It's  mighty  kind  of  you,  Colonel,  to  buck 
me  up  this  way." 

"  Rot !  "  The  colonel  experienced  a  slight 
heat  in  his  leathery  cheeks.  "  All  you've  got 
to  do  is  to  hold  your  arm  out  straight,  pull 
the  triggger,  and  squint  afterward." 

"  I  sha'n't  hurt  the  Barone,"  smiling 
faintly. 

"  Are  you  going  to  be  ass  enough  to  pop 
your  gun  in  the  air?  "  indignantly. 

Abbott  shrugged;  and  the  colonel  cursed 
himself  for  the  guiltiest  scoundrel  unhung. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  opponents  stood  at 
each  end  of  the  tennis-court.  Ellicott,  th' 
surgeon,  had  laid  open  his  medical  case.  He 
was  the  most  agitated  of  the  five  men.  His 
fingers  shook  as  he  spread  out  the  lints  and 
bandages.  The  colonel  and  Courtlandt  had 
solemnly  gone  through  the  formality  of  load- 


342     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

ing  .the  weapons.  The  sun  had  not  climbed 
over  the  eastern  summits,  but  the  snow  on  the 
western  tops  was  rosy. 

"  At  the  word  three,  gentlemen,  you  will 
fire,"  said  the  colonel. 

The  two  shots  came  simultaneously.  Ab 
bott  had  deliberately  pointed  his  into  the  air. 
For  a  moment  he  stood  perfectly  still;  then, 
his  knees  sagged,  and  he  toppled  forward  on 
his  face. 

"  Great  God ! "  whispered  the  colonel ; 
"  you  must  have  forgotten  the  ramrod !  " 

He,  Courtlandt,  and  the  surgeon  rushed 
over  to  the  fallen  man.  The  Barone  stood 
like  stone.  Suddenly,  with  a  gesture  of  hor 
ror,  he  flung  aside  his  smoking  pistol  and  ran 
across  the  court. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  cried,  "  on  my  honor,  I 
aimed  three  feet  above  his  head."  He  wrung 
his  hands  together  in  anxiety.  "  It  is  impos 
sible!  It  is  only  that  I  wished  to  see  if  he 


Suddenly  he   flung  aside  his  smoking  pistol. 


PISTOLS  FOR  TWO  343 

were  a  brave  man.  I  shoot  well.  It  is  im 
possible  !  "  he  reiterated. 

Rapidly  the  cunning  hand  of  the  surgeon 
ran  over  Abbott's  body.  He  finally  shook  his 
head.  "  Nothing  has  touched  him.  His  heart 
gave  under.  Fainted." 

When  Abbott  came  to  his  senses,  he  smiled 
weakly.  The  Barone  was  one  of  the  two  who 
helped  him  to  his  feet. 

"  I  feel  like  a  fool,"  he  said. 

"  Ah,  let  me  apologize  now,"  said  the 
Barone.  "  What  I  did  at  the  ball  was  wrong, 
and  I  should  not  have  lost  my  temper.  I  had 
come  to  you  to  apologize  then.  But  I  am 
Italian.  It  is  natural  that  I  should  lose  my 
temper,"  naively. 

"  We're  both  of  us  a  pair  of  fools,  Barone. 
There  was  always  some  one  else.  A  couple  of 
fools." 

"  Yes,"  admitted  the  Barone  eagerly. 

"  Considering,"    whispered    the    colonel    in 


344     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

Courtlandt's  ear;  "  considering  that  neither  of 
them  knew  they  were  shooting  nothing  more 
dangerous  than  wads,  they're  pretty  good 
specimens.  Eh,  what?," 


CHAPTER  XIX 

COURTLANDT    TELLS    A   STORY 

THE  Colonel  and  his  guests  at  luncheon 
had  listened  to  Courtlandt  without 
sound  or  movement  beyond  the  occasional  rasp 
of  feet  shifting  under  the  table.  He  had  be 
gun  with  the  old  familiar  phrase  — "  I've  got 
a  story." 

"  Tell  it,"  had  been  the  instant  request. 

At  the  beginning  the  men  had  been  leaning 
at  various  negligent  angles, —  some  with  their 
elbows  upon  the  table,  some  with  their  arms 
thrown  across  the  backs  of  their  chairs.  The 
partridge  had  been  excellent,  the  wine  de 
licious,  the  tobacco  irreproachable.  Burma, 
the  tinkle  of  bells  in  the  temples,  the  strange 
pictures  in  the  bazaars,  long  journeys  over 
smooth  and  stormy  seas;  romance,  moving 
345 


346     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

and  colorful,  which  began  at  Rangoon,  had  zig 
zagged  around  the  world,  and  ended  in  Berlin. 

"And  so,"  concluded  the  teller  of  the  tale, 
"  that  is  the  story.  This  man  was  perfectly 
innocent  of  any  wrong,  a  victim  of  malice  on 
the  one  hand  and  of  injustice  on  the  other." 

"Is  that  the  end  of  the  yarn?"  asked  the 
colonel. 

"  Who  in  life  knows  what  the  end  of  any 
thing  is?  This  is  not  a  story  out  of  a  book." 
Courtlandt  accepted  a  fresh  cigar  from  the 
box  which  Rao  passed  to  him,  and  dropped 
his  dead  weed  into  the  ash-bowl. 

"  Has  he  given  up  ? "  asked  Abbott,  his 
voice  strangely  unfamiliar  in  his  own  ears. 

"A  man  can  struggle  just  so  long  against 
odds,  then  he  wins  or  becomes  broken. 
Women  are  not  logical;  generally  they  permit 
themselves  to  be  guided  by  impulse  rather  than 
by  reason.  This  man  I  am  telling  you  about 
was  proud ;  perhaps  too  proud.  It  is  a  shame 
ful  fact,  but  he  ran  away.  True,  he  wrote 


COURTLANDT  TELLS  A  STORY      347 

letter  after  letter,  but  all  these  were  returned 
unopened.  Then  he  stopped." 

"  A  woman  would  a  good  deal  rather 
believe  circumstantial  evidence  than  not. 
Humph !  "  The  colonel  primed  his  pipe  and 
relighted  it.  "  She  couldn't  have  been  worth 
much." 

"  Worth  much !  "  cried  Abbott.  "  What  do 
you  imply  by  that?" 

"  No  man  will  really  give  up  a  woman  who 
is  really  worth  while,  that  is,  of  course,  ad 
mitting  that  your  man,  Courtlandt,  is  a  man. 
Perhaps,  though,  it  was  his  fault.  He  was 
not  persistent  enough,  maybe  a  bit  spineless. 
The  fact  that  he  gave  up  so  quickly  possibly 
convinced  her  that  her  impressions  were  cor 
rect.  Why,  I'd  have  followed  her  day  in  and 
day  out,  year  after  year;  never  would  I  have 
let  up  until  I  had  proved  to  her  that  she  had 
been  wrong." 

"  The  colonel  is  right,"  Abbott  approved, 
never  taking  his  eyes  off  Courtlandt,  who  was 


348     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

apparently  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of 
the  bread  crumbs  under  his  fingers. 

"And  more,  by  hook  or  crook,  I'd  have 
dragged  in  the  other  woman  by  the  hair  and 
made  her  confess." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,  Colonel,"  responded 
Courtlandt,  with  a  dry  laugh.  "  And  that 
would  really  have  been  the  end  of  the  story. 
The  heroine  of  this  rambling  tale  would  then 
have  been  absolutely  certain  of  collusion  be 
tween  the  two." 

"  That  is  like  a  woman,"  the  Barone  agreed, 
and  he  knew  something  about  them.  "  And 
where  is  this  man  now  ?  " 

"  Here,"  said  Courtlandt,  pushing  back  his 
chair  and  rising.  "  I  am  he."  He  turned  his 
back  upon  them  and  sought  the  garden. 

Tableau ! 

"  Dash  me ! "  cried  the  colonel,  who,  being 
the  least  interested  personally,  was  first  to  re 
cover  his  speech. 


COURTLANDT  TELLS  A  STORY     349 

The  Barone  drew  in  his  breath  sharply. 
Then  he  looked  at  Abbott. 

"  I  suspected  it,"  replied  Abbott  to  the  mute 
question.  Since  the  episode  of  that  morning 
his  philosophical  outlook  had  broadened.  He 
had  fought  a  duel  and  had  come  out  of  it  with 
flying  colors.  As  long  as  he  lived  he  was  cer 
tain  that  the  petty  affairs  of  the  day  were  never 
again  going  to  disturb  him. 

"  Let  him  be,"  was  the  colonel's  suggestion, 
adding  a  gesture  in  the  direction  of  the  case 
ment  door  through  which  Courtlandt  had  gone. 
"  He's  as  big  a  man  as  Nora  is  a  woman.  If 
he  has  returned  with  the  determination  of  win 
ning  her,  he  will." 

They  did  not  see  Courtlandt  again.  After 
a  few  minutes  of  restless  to-and-froing,  he  pro 
ceeded  down  to  the  landing,  helped  himself  to 
the  colonel's  motor-boat,  and  returned  to  Bel- 
laggio.  At  the  hotel  he  asked  for  the  duke, 
only  to  be  told  that  the  duke  and  madame  had 


350     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

left  that  morning  for  Paris.  Courtlandt  saw 
that  he  had  permitted  one  great  opportunity 
to  slip  past.  He  gave  up  the  battle.  One 
more  good  look  at  her,  and  he  would  go  away. 
The  odds  had  been  too  strong  for  him,  and  he 
knew  that  he  was  broken. 

When  the  motor-boat  came  back,  Abbott  and 
the  Barone  made  use  of  it  also.  They  crossed 
in  silence,. heavy-hearted. 

On  landing  Abbott  said :  "  It  is  probable 
that  I  shall  not  see  you  again  this  year.  I  am 
leaving  to-morrow  for  Paris.  It's  a  great 
world,  isn't  it,  where  they  toss  us  around  like 
dice?  Some  throw  sixes  and  others  deuces. 
And  in  this  game  you  and  I  have  lost  two  out 
of  three." 

"  I  shall  return  to  Rome,"  replied  the 
Barone.  "  My  long  leave  of  absence  is  near 
its  end." 

"  What  in  the  world  can  have  happened  ?  " 
demanded  Nora,  showing  the  two  notes  to 
Celeste.  "  Here's  Donald  going  to  Paris  to- 


COURTLANDT  TELLS  A  STORY     351 

morrow  and  the  Barone  to  Rome.  They  will 
bid  us  good-by  at  tea.  I  don't  understand. 
Donald  was  to  remain  until  we  left  for  Amer 
ica,  and  the  Barone's  leave  does  not  end  until 
October." 

"  To-morrow  ? "  Dim-eyed,  Celeste  re 
turned  the  notes. 

"  Yes.  You  play  the  fourth  ballade  and  I'll 
sing  from  Madame.  It  will  be  very  lone 
some  without  them."  Nora  gazed  into  the 
wall  mirror  and  gave  a  pat  or  two  to  her  hair. 

When  the  men  arrived,  it  was  impressed 
on  Nora's  mind  that  never  had  she  seen 
them  so  amiable  toward  each  other.  They 
were  positively  friendly.  And  why  not  ?  The 
test  of  the  morning  had  proved  each  of  them 
to  his  own  individual  satisfaction,  and  had 
done  away  with  those  stilted  mannerisms  that 
generally  make  rivals  ridiculous  in  all  eyes 
save  their  own.  The  revelation  at  luncheon 
had  convinced  them  of  the  futility  of  things 
in  general  and  of  woman  in  particular.  They 


352     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

were,  without  being  aware  of  the  fact,  each 
a  consolation  to  the  other.  The  old  adage  that 
misery  loves  company  was  never  more  nicely 
typified. 

If  Celeste  expected  Nora  to  exhibit  any 
signs  of  distress  over  the  approaching  de 
parture,  she  was  disappointed.  In  truth,  Nora 
was  secretly  pleased  to  be  rid  of  these  two 
suitors,  much  as  she  liked  them.  The  Barone 
had  not  yet  proposed,  and  his  sudden  determi 
nation  to  return  to  Rome  eliminated  this  dis 
agreeable  possibility.  She  was  glad  Abbott 
was  going  because  she  had  hurt  him  without 
intention,  and  the  sight  of  him  was,  in  spite 
of  her  innocence,  a  constant  reproach.  Pres 
ently  she  would  have  her  work,  and  there 
would  be  no  time  for  loneliness. 

The  person  who  suffered  keenest  was  Celeste. 
She  was  awake;  the  tender  little  dream  was 
gone;  and  bravely  she  accepted  the  fact. 
Never  her  agile  fingers  stumbled,  and  she 
played  remarkably  well,  from  Beethoven, 


COURTLANDT  TELLS  A  STORY     353 

Chopin,  Grieg,  Rubinstein,  MacDowell.  And 
Nora,  perversely  enough,  sang  from  old  light 
opera. 

When  the  two  men  departed,  Celeste  went 
to  her  room  and  Nora  out  upon  the  terrace. 
It  was  after  five.  No  one  was  about,  so  far 
as  she  could  see.  She  stood  enchanted  over 
the  transformation  that  was  affecting  the 
mountains  and  the  lakes.  How  she  loved  the 
spot !  How  she  would  have  liked  to  spend  the 
rest  of  her  days  here!  And  how  beautiful  all 
the  world  was  to-day! 

She  gave  a  frightened  little  scream.  A 
strong  pair  of  arms  had  encircled  her.  She 
started  to  cry  out  again,  but  the  sound  was 
muffled  and  blotted  out  by  the  pressure  of  a 
man's  lips  upon  her  own.  She  struggled  vio 
lently,  and  suddenly  was  freed. 

"  If  I  were  a  man,"  she  said,  "you  should 
die  for  that !  " 

"  It  was  an  opportunity  not  to  be  ignored," 
returned  Courtlandt.  "  It  is  true  that  I  was 


354     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

a  fool  to  run  away  as  I  did,  but  my  return  has 
convinced  me  that  I  should  have  been  as  much 
a  fool  had  I  remained  to  tag  you  about,  beg 
ging  for  an  interview.  I  wrote  you  letters. 
You  returned  them  unopened.  You  have  con 
demned  me  without  a  hearing.  So  be  it.  You 
may  consider  that  kiss  the  farewell  appearance 
so  dear  to  the  operatic  heart,"  bitterly. 

He  addressed  most  of  this  to  the  back  of 
her  head,  for  she  was  already  walking  toward 
the  villa  into  which  she  disappeared  with  the 
proud  air  of  some  queen  of  tragedy.  She  was 
a  capital  actress. 

A  heavy  hand  fell  upon  Courtlandt's  shoul 
der.  He  was  irresistibly  drawn  right  about 
face. 

"  Now,  then,  Mr.  Courtlandt,"  said  Harri- 
gan,  his  eyes  blue  and  cold  as  ice,  "  perhaps 
you  will  explain  ?  " 

With  rage  and  despair  in  his  heart,  Court 
landt  flung  off  the  hand  and  answered :  "  I 
refuse!" 


COURTLANDT  TELLS  A  STORY     355 

"  Ah !  "  Harrigan  stood  off  a  few  steps  and 
ran  his  glance  critically  up  and  down  this  man 
of  whom  he  had  thought  to  make  a  friend. 
"  You're  a  husky  lad.  There's  one  way  out  of 
this  for  you." 

"  So  long  as  it  does  not  necessitate  any  ex 
planations,"  indifferently. 

"  In  the  bottom  of  one  of  Nora's  trunks  is 
a  set  of  my  old  gloves.  There  will  not  be  any 
one  up  at  the  tennis-court  this  time  of  day. 
If  you  are  not  a  mean  cuss,  if  you  are  not  an 
ordinary  low-down  imitation  of  a  man,  you'll 
meet  me  up  there  inside  of  five  minutes.  If 
you  can  stand  up  in  front  of  me  for  ten  min 
utes,  you  need  not  make  any  explanations.  On 
the  other  hand,  you'll  hike  out  of  here  as  fast 
as  boats  and  trains  can  take  you.  And  never 
come  back." 

"  I  am  nearly  twenty  years  younger  than 
you,  Mr.  Harrigan." 

"  Oh,  don't  let  that  worry  you  any,"  with  a 
truculent  laugh. 


356     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  Very  well.  You  will  find  me  there. 
After  all,  you  are  her  father." 

"You  bet  lam!" 

Harrigan  stole  into  his  daughter's  room  and 
soundlessly  bored  into  the  bottom  of  the  trunk 
that  contained  the  relics  of  past  glory.  As 
he  pulled  them  forth,  a  folded  oblong  strip  of 
parchment  came  out  with  them  and  fluttered 
to  the  floor;  but  he  was  too  busily  engaged  to 
notice  it,  nor  would  he  have  bothered  if  he 
had.  The  bottom  of  the  trunk  was  littered 
with  old  letters  and  programs  and  operatic 
scores.  He  wrapped  the  gloves  in  a  newspaper 
and  got  away  without  being  seen.  He  was  as 
happy  as  a  boy  who  had  discovered  an  opening 
in  the  fence  between  him  and  the  apple  orchard. 
He  was  rather  astonished  to  see  Courtlandt 
kneeling  in  the  clover-patch,  hunting  for  a 
four-leaf  clover.  It  was  patent  that  the  young 
man  was  not  troubled  with  nerves. 

"  Here !  "  he  cried,  bruskly,  tossing  over 
a  pair  of  gloves.  "  If  this  method  of  settling 


COURTLANDT  TELLS  A  STORY      357 

the  dispute  isn't  satisfactory,  I'll  accept  your 
explanations." 

For  reply  Courtlandt  stood  up  and  stripped 
to  his  undershirt.  He  drew  on  the  gloves  and 
laced  them  with  the  aid  of  his  teeth.  Then 
he  kneaded  them  carefully.  The  two  men 
eyed  each  other  a  little  more  respectfully  than 
they  had  ever  done  before. 

"  This  single  court  is  about  as  near  as  we 
can  make  it.  The  man  who  steps  outside  is 
whipped." 

"  I  agree,"  said  Courtlandt. 

"  No  rounds  with  rests ;  until  one  or  the 
other  is  outside.  Clean  breaks.  That's  about 
all.  Now,  put  up  your  dukes  and  take  a  man's 
licking.  I  thought  you  were  your  father's  son, 
but  I  guess  you  are  like  the  rest  of  'em,  hunt 
ers  of  women." 

Courtlandt  laughed  and  stepped  to  the  mid 
dle  of  the  court.  Harrigan  did  not  waste  any 
time.  He  sent  in  a  straight  jab  to  the  jaw, 
but  Courtlandt  blocked  it  neatly  and  countered 


358     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

with  a  hard  one  on  Harrigan's  ear,  which  be 
gan  to  swell. 

"  Fine !  "  growled  Harrigan.  "  You  know 
something  about  the  game.  It  won't  be  as  if 
I  was  walloping  a  baby."  He  sent  a  left  to 
the  body,  but  the  right  failed  to  reach  his 
man. 

For  some  time  Harrigan  jabbed  and  swung 
and  upper-cut;  often  he  reached  his  opponent's 
body,  but  never  his  face.  It  worried  him  a 
little  to  find  that  he  could  not  stir  Courtlandt 
more  than  two  or  three  feet.  Courtlandt 
never  followed  up  any  advantage,  thus  making 
Harrigan  force  the  fighting,  which  was  rather 
to  his  liking.  But  presently  it  began  to  enter 
his  mind  convincingly  that  apart  from  the 
initial  blow,  the  younger  man  was  working 
wholly  on  the  defensive.  As  if  he  were  afraid 
he  might  hurt  him!  This  served  to  make  the 
old  fellow  furious.  He  bored  in  right  and 
left,  left  and  right,  and  Courtlandt  gave  way, 
step  by  step  until  he  was  so  close  to  the  line 


COURTLANDT  TELLS  A  STORY      359 

that  he  could  see  it  from  the  corner  of  his 
eye.  This  glance,  swift  as  it  was,  came  near 
to  being  his  undoing.  Harrigan  caught  him 
with  a  terrible  right  on  the  jaw.  It  was  a 
glancing  blow,  otherwise  the  fight  would  have 
ended  then  and  there.  Instantly  he  lurched 
forward  and  clenched  before  the  other  could 
add  the  finishing  touch. 

The  two  pushed  about,  Harrigan  fiercely 
striving  to  break  the  younger  man's  hold.  He 
was  beginning  to  breathe  hard  besides.  A  lit 
tle  longer,  and  his  blows  would  lack  the  proper 
steam.  Finally  Courtlandt  broke  away  of  his 
own  accord.  His  head  buzzed  a  little,  but 
aside  from  that  he  had  recovered.  Harrigan 
pursued  his  tactics  and  rushed.  But  this  time 
there  was  an  offensive  return.  Courtlandt  be 
came  the  aggressor.  There  was  no  withstand 
ing  him.  And  Harrigan  fairly  saw  the  end; 
but  with  that  indomitable  pluck  which  had 
made  him  famous  in  the  annals  of  the  ring,  he 
kept  banging  away.  The  swift  cruel  jabs 


360     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

here  and  there  upon  his  body  began  to  tell. 
Oh,  for  a  minute's  rest  and  a  piece  of  lemon 
on  his  parched  tongue!  Suddenly  Courtlandt 
rushed  him  tigerishly,  landing  a  jab  which 
closed  Harrigan's  right  eye.  Courtlandt 
dropped  his  hands,  and  stepped  back.  His 
glance  traveled  suggestively  to  Harrigan's  feet. 
He  was  outside  the  "  ropes  ". 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Harrigan,  for  los 
ing  my  temper." 

"What's  the  odds?  I  lost  mine.  You 
win."  Harrigan  was  a  true  sportsman.  He 
had  no  excuses  to  offer.  He  had  dug  the  pit 
of  humiliation  with  his  own  hands.  He  recog 
nized  this  as  one  of  two  facts.  The  other  was, 
that  had  Courtlandt  extended  himself,  the  bat 
tle  would  have  lasted  about  one  minute.  It 
was  gall  and  wormwood,  but  there  you  were. 

"  And  now,  you  ask  for  explanations. 
Ask  your  daughter  to  make  them."  Court 
landt  pulled  off  the  gloves  and  got  into  his 
clothes.  "  You  may  add,  sir,  that  I  shall  never 


COURTLANDT  TELLS  A  STORY      361 

trouble  her  again  with  my  unwelcome  atten 
tions.  I  leave  for  Milan  in  the  morning." 
Courtlandt  left  the  field  of  victory  without 
further  comment. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  that?  "  mused 
Harrigan,  as  he  stooped  over  to  gather  up  the 
gloves.  "  Any  one  would  say  that  he  was  the 
injured  party.  I'm  in  wrong  on  this  deal 
somewhere.  I'll  ask  Miss  Nora  a  question  or 
two." 

It  was  not  so  easy  returning.  He  ran  into 
his  wife.  He  tried  to  dodge  her,  but  without 
success. 

"  James,  where  did  you  get  that  black  eye  ?  " 
tragically. 

"  It's  a  daisy,  ain't  it,  Molly?  "  pushing  past 
her  into  Nora's  room  and  closing  the  door 
after  him. 

"Father!" 

"That  you,  Nora?"  blinking. 

"  Father,  if  you  have  been  fighting  with  him, 
I'll  never  forgive  you." 


362     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  Forget  it,  Nora.  I  wasn't  fighting.  I 
only  thought  I  was." 

He  raised  the  lid  of  the  trunk  and  cast  in 
the  gloves  haphazard.  And  then  he  saw  the 
paper  which  had  fallen  out.  He  picked  it  up 
and  squinted  at  it,  for  he  could  not  see  very 
well.  Nora  was  leaving  the  room  in  a  temper. 

"Going,  Nora?" 

"  I  am.  And  I  advise  you  to  have  your 
dinner  in  your  room." 

Alone,  he  turned  on  the  light.  It  never  oc 
curred  to  him  that  he  might  be  prying  into 
some  of  Nora's  private  correspondence.  He 
unfolded  the  parchment  and  held  it  under  the 
light.  For  a  long  time  he  stared  at  the  writ 
ing,  which  was  in  English,  at  the  date,  at  the 
names.  Then  he  quietly  refolded  it  and  put 
it  away  for  future  use,  immediate  future  use. 

"  This  is  a  great  world,"  he  murmured,  rub 
bing  his  ear  tenderly. 


H 


CHAPTER  XX 
JOURNEY'S  END 

ARRIGAN  dined  alone.     He  was  in  dis 


grace;  he  was  sore,  mentally  as  well  as 
physically ;  and  he  ate  his  dinner  without  relish, 
in  simple  obedience  to  those  well  regulated 
periods  of  hunger  that  assailed  him  three 
times  a  day,  in  spring,  summer,  autumn  and 
winter.  By  the  time  the  waiter  had  cleared 
away  the  dishes,  Harrigan  had  a  perfecto  be 
tween  his  teeth  (along  with  a  certain  matri 
monial  bit),  and  smoked  as  if  he  had  wagered 
to  finish  the  cigar  in  half  the  usual  stretch. 
He  then  began  to  walk  the  floor,  much  after 
the  fashion  of  a  man  who  has  the  toothache, 
or  the  earache,  which  would  be  more  to  the 
point.  To  his  direct  mind  no  diplomacy  was 
needed ;  all  that  was  necessary  was  a  few  blunt 
363 


364     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

questions.  Nora  could  answer  them  as  she 
chose.  Nora,  his  baby,  his  little  girl  that  used 
to  run  around  barefooted  and  laugh  when  he 
applied  the  needed  birch !  How  children  grew 
up!  And  they  never  grew  too  old  for  the 
birch;  they  certainly  never  did. 

They  heard  him  from  the  drawing-room; 
tramp,  tramp,  tramp. 

"Let  him  be,  Nora,"  said  Mrs.  Harrigan, 
wisely.  "  He  is  in  a  rage  about  something. 
And  your  father  is  not  the  easiest  man  to  ap 
proach  when  he's  mad.  If  he  fought  Mr. 
Courtlandt,  he  believed  he  had  some  good  rea 
son  for  doing  so." 

"  Mother,  there  are  times  when  I  believe  you 
are  afraid  of  father." 

"  I  am  always  afraid  of  him.  It  is  only 
because  I  make  believe  I'm  not  that  I  can  get 
him  to  do  anything.  It  was  dreadful.  And 
Mr.  Courtlandt  was  such  a  gentleman.  I  could 
cry.  But  let  your  father  be  until  to-morrow." 

"  And  have  him  wandering  about  with  that 


JOURNEY'S  END  365 

black  eye?  Something  must  be  done  for  it. 
I'm  not  afraid  of  him." 

"  Sometimes  I  wish  you  were." 

So  Nora  entered  the  lion's  den  fearlessly. 
"  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you,  dad  ?  " 

"  You  can  get  the  witch-hazel  and  bathe  this 
lamp  of  mine,"  grimly. 

She  ran  into  her  own  room  and  returned 
with  the  simpler  devices  for  reducing  a  swollen 
eye.  She  did  not  notice,  or  pretended  that  she 
didn't,  that  he  locked  the  door  and  put  the  key 
in  his  pocket.  He  sat  down  in  a  chair,  under 
the  light;  and  she  went  to  work  deftly. 

"  I've  got  some  make-up,  and  to-morrow 
morning  I'll  paint  it  for  you." 

"  You  don't  ask  any  questions,"  he  said,  with 
grimness. 

"  Would  it  relieve  your  eye  any  ?  "  lightly. 

He  laughed.  "  No ;  but  it  might  relieve  my 
mind." 

"  Well,  then,  why  did  you  do  so  foolish  a 
thing?  At  your  age!  Don't  you  know  that 


366     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

you  can't  go  on  whipping  every  man  you  take  a 
dislike  to?" 

"  I  haven't  taken  any  dislike  to  Courtlandt. 
But  I  saw  him  kiss  you." 

"  I  can  take  care  of  myself." 

"  Perhaps.  I  asked  him  to  explain.  He  re 
fused.  One  thing  puzzled  me,  though  I  didn't 
know  what  it  was  at  the  time.  Now,  when  a 
fellow  steals  a  kiss  from  a  beautiful  woman 
like  you,  Nora,  I  don't  see  why  he  should  feel 
mad  about  it.  When  he  had  all  but  knocked 
your  daddy  to  by-by,  he  said  that  you  could 
explain.  .  .  .  Don't  press  so  hard,"  warn- 
ingly.  "  Well,  can  you  ?  " 

"  Since  you  saw  what  he  did,  I  do  not  see 
where  explanations  on  my  part  are  necessary." 

"  Nora,  I've  never  caught  you  in  a  lie.  I 
never  want  to.  When  you  were  little  you  were 
the  truth  fullest  thing  I  ever  saw.  No  matter 
what  kind  of  a  licking  was  in  store  for  you, 
you  weren't  afraid ;  you  told  the  truth.  .  .  . 
There,  that'll  do.  Put  some  cotton  over  it  and 


JOURNEY'S  END  367 

bind  it  with  a  handkerchief.  It'll  be  black  all 
right,  but  the  swelling  will  go  down.  I  can 
tell  'em  a  tennis-ball  hit  me.  It  was  more  like 
a  cannon-ball,  though.  Say,  Nora,  you  know 
I've  always  pooh-poohed  these  amateurs.  Peo 
ple  used  to  say  that  there  were  dozens  of  men 
in  New  York  in  my  prime  who  could  have 
laid  me  cold.  I  used  to  laugh.  Well,  I  guess 
they  were  right.  Courtlandt's  got  the  stiffest 
kick  I  ever  ran  into.  A  pile-driver,  and  if  he 
had  landed  on  my  jaw,  it  would  have  been 
dormi  bene,  as  you  say  when  you  bid  me  good 
night  in  dago.  That's  all  right  now  until  to 
morrow.  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  Draw  up  a 
chair.  There!  As  I  said,  I've  never  caught 
you  in  a  lie,  but  I  find  that  you've  been  living 
a  lie  for  two  years.  You  haven't  been  square 
to  me,  nor  to  your  mother,  nor  to  the  chaps 
that  came  around  and  made  love  to  you.  You 
probably  didn't  look  at  it  that  way,  but  there's 
the  fact.  I'm  not  Paul  Pry;  but  accidentally 
I  came  across  this,"  taking  the  document  from 


368     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

his  pocket  and  handing  it  to  her.  "  Read  it. 
What's  the  answer?" 

Nora's  hands  trembled. 

"  Takes  you  a  long  time  to  read  it.  Is  it 
true?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  I  went  up  to  the  tennis-court  with  the 
intention  of  knocking  his  head  off;  and  now 
I'm  wondering  why  he  didn't  knock  off  mine. 
Nora,  he's  a  man;  and  when  you  get  through 
with  this,  I'm  going  down  to  the  hotel  and 
apologize." 

'''  You  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort;  not  with 
that  eye." 

"  All  right.  I  was  always  worried  for  fear 
you'd  hook  up  with  some  duke  you'd  have  to 
support.  Now,  I  want  to  know  how  this  chap 
happens  to  be  my  son-in-law.  Make  it  brief, 
for  I  don't  want  to  get  tangled  up  more  than 
is  necessary." 

Nora  crackled  the  certificate  in  her  ringers 
and  stared  unseeingly  at  it  for  some  time.  "  I 


JOURNEY'S  END  369 

met  him  first  in  Rangoon,"  she  began  slowly, 
without  raising  her  eyes. 

"  When  you  went  around  the  world  on  your 
own?" 

"  Yes.  Oh,  don't  worry.  I  was  always 
able  to  take  care  of  myself." 

"  An  Irish  idea,"  answered  Harrigan  com 
placently. 

"  I  loved  him,  father,  with  all  my  heart  and 
soul.  He  was  not  only  big  and  strong  and 
handsome,  but  he  was  kindly  and  tender  and 
thoughtful.  Why,  I  never  knew  that  he  was 
rich  until  after  I  had  promised  to  be  his  wife. 
WThen  I  learned  that  he  was  the  Edward  Court- 
landt  who  was  always  getting  into  the  news 
papers,  I  laughed.  There  were  stories  about 
his  escapades.  There  were  innuendoes  regard 
ing  certain  women,  but  I  put  them  out  of  my 
mind  as  twaddle.  Ah,  never  had  I  been  so 
happy !  In  Berlin  we  went  about  like  two  chil 
dren.  It  was  play.  He  brought  me  to  the 
Opera  and  took  me  away ;  and  we  had  the  most 


3/o     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

charming  little  suppers.  I  never  wrote  you  or 
mother  because  I  wished  to  surprise  you." 

"  You  have.     Go  on." 

"  I  had  never  paid  much  attention  to  Flora 
Desimone,  though  I  knew  that  she  was  jealous 
of  my  success.  Several  times  I  caught  her 
looking  at  Edward  in  a  way  I  did  not  like." 

"She  looked  at  him,  huh?" 

"  It  was  the  last  performance  of  the  season. 
We  were  married  that  afternoon.  We  did  not 
want  any  one  to  know  about  it.  I  was  not  to 
leave  the  stage  until  the  end  of  the  following 
season.  We  were  staying  at  the  same  hotel, 
with  rooms  across  the  corridor.  This  was 
much  against  his  wishes,  but  I  prevailed." 

"  I  see." 

"  Our  rooms  were  opposite,  as  I  said.  After 
the  performance  that  night  I  went  to  mine  to 
complete  the  final  packing.  We  were  to  leave 
at  one  for  the  Tyrol.  Father,  I  saw  Flora 
Desimone  come  out  of  his  room." 

Harrigan  shut  and  opened  his  hands. 


JOURNEY'S  END  371 

"Do  you  understand?  I  saw  her.  She 
was  laughing.  I  did  not  see  him.  My  wed 
ding  night!  She  came  from  his  room.  My 
heart  stopped,  the  world  stopped,  everything 
went  black.  All  the  stones  that  I  had  read 
and  heard  came  back.  When  he  knocked  at 
my  door  I  refused  to  see  him.  I  never  saw 
him  again  until  that  night  in  Paris  when  he 
forced  his  way  into  my  apartment." 

"  Hang  it,  Nora,  this  doesn't  sound  like 
him!" 

"  I  saw  her." 

"  He  wrote  you?  " 

"  I  returned  the  letters,  unopened." 

"  That  wasn't  square.  You  might  have  been 
wrong." 

"  He  wrote  five  letters.  After  that  he  went 
to  India,  to  Africa  and  back  to  India,  where  he 
seemed  to  find  consolation  enough." 

Harrigan  laid  it  to  his  lack  of  normal  vision, 
but  to  his  single  optic  there  was  anything  but 
misery  in  her  beautiful  blue  eyes.  True,  they 


372     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

sparkled  with  tears ;  but  that  signified  nothing : 
he  hadn't  been  married  these  thirty-odd  years 
without  learning  that  a  woman  weeps  for  any 
of  a  thousand  and  one  reasons. 

"  Do  you  care  for  him  still  ?  " 

"  Not  a  day  passed  during  these  many 
months  that  I  did  not  vow  I  hated  him." 

"  Any  one  else  know  ?  " 

"  The  padre.  I  had  to  tell  some  one  or  go 
mad.  But  I  didn't  hate  him.  I  could  no  more 
put  him  out  of  my  life  than  I  could  stop 
breathing.  Ah,  I  have  been  so  miserable  and 
unhappy !  "  She  laid  her  head  upon  his  knees 
and  clumsily  he  stroked  it.  His  girl! 

"That's  the  trouble  with  us  Irish,  Nora. 
We  jump  without  looking,  without  finding 
whether  we're  right  or  wrong.  Well,  your 
daddy's  opinion  is  that  you  should  have  read 
his  first  letter.  If  it  didn't  ring  right,  why, 
you  could  have  jumped  the  traces.  I  don't 
believe  he  did  anything  wrong  at  all.  It  isn't 
in  the  man's  blood  to  do  anything  underboard." 


JOURNEY'S  END  373 

"  But  I  saw  her,"  a  queer  look  in  her  eyes  as 
she  glanced  up  at  him. 

"  I  don't  care  a  kioodle  if  you  did.  Take 
it  from  me,  it  was  a  put-up  job  by  that  Cala- 
brian  woman.  She  might  have  gone  to  his 
room  for  any  number  of  harmless  things. 
But  I  think  she  was  curious." 

"  Why  didn't  she  come  to  me,  if  she  wanted 
to  ask  questions  ?  " 

"  I  can  see  you  answering  'em.  She  prob 
ably  just  wanted  to  know  if  you  were  married 
or  not.  She  might  have  been  in  love  with  him, 
and  then  she  might  not.  These  Italians  don't 
know  half  the  time  what  they're  about,  any 
how.  But  I  don't  believe  it  of  Courtlandt. 
He  doesn't  line  up  that  way.  Besides,  he's 
got  eyes.  You're  a  thousand  times  more  at 
tractive.  He's  no  fool.  Know  what  I  think? 
As  she  was  coming  out  she  saw  you  at  your 
door;  and  the  devil  in  her  got  busy." 

Nora  rose,  flung  her  arms  around  him  and 
kissed  him. 


374     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"  Look  out  for  that  tin  ear !  " 

"  Oh,  you  great  big,  loyal,  true-hearted  man ! 
Open  that  door  and  let  me  get  out  to  the  ter 
race.  I  want  to  sing,  sing !  " 

"  He  said  he  was  going  to  Milan  in  the  morn 
ing." 

She  danced  to  the  door  and  was  gone. 

"  Nora !  "  he  called,  impatiently.  He  lis 
tened  in  vain  for  the  sound  of  Her  return. 
"  Well,  I'll  take  the  count  when  it  comes  to 
guessing  what  a  woman's  going  to  do.  I'll 
go  out  and  square  up  with  the  old  girl.  Won 
der  how  this  news  will  harness  up  with  her 
social  bug?  " 

Courtlandt  got  into  his  compartment  at 
Varenna.  He  had  tipped  the  guard  liberally 
not  to  open  the  door  for  any  one  else,  unless 
the  train  was  crowded.  As  the  shrill  blast  of 
the  conductor's  horn  sounded  the  warning  of 
"  all  aboard,"  the  door  opened  and  a  heavily 
veiled  woman  got  in  hurriedly.  The  train  be 
gan  to  move  instantly.  The  guard  slammed 


JOURNEY'S  END  375 

the  door  and  latched  it.  Courtlandt  sighed: 
the  futility  of  trusting  these  Italians,  of  trying 
to  buy  their  loyalty!  The  woman  was  with 
out  any  luggage  whatever,  not  even  the  usual 
magazine.  She  was  dressed  in  brown,  her  hat 
was  brown,  her  veil,  her  gloves,  her  shoes. 
But  whether  she  was  young  or  old  was  beyond 
his  deduction.  He  opened  his  Corriere  and 
held  it  before  his  eyes;  but  he  found  reading 
impossible.  The  newspaper  finally  slipped 
from  his  hands  to  the  floor  where  it  swayed 
and  rustled  unnoticed.  He  was  staring  at  the 
promontory  across  Lecco,  the  green  and  restful 
hill,  the  little  earthly  paradise  out  of  which  he 
had  been  unjustly  cast.  He  couldn't  under 
stand.  He  had  lived  cleanly  and  decently;  he 
had  wronged  no  man  or  woman,  nor  himself. 
And  yet,  through  some  evil  twist  of  fate,  he 
had  lost  all  there  was  in  life  worth  having. 
The  train  lurched  around  a  shoulder  of  the 
mountain.  He  leaned  against  the  window. 
In  a  moment  more  the  villa  was  gone. 


376     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

What  was  it?  He  felt  irresistibly  drawn. 
Without  intending  to  do  so,  he  turned  and 
stared  at  the  woman  in  brown.  Her  hand 
went  to  the  veil  and  swept  it  aside.  Nora  was 
as  full  of  romance  as  a  child.  She  could  have 
stopped  him  before  he  made  the  boat,  but  she 
wanted  to  be  alone  with  him. 

"Nora!" 

She  flung  herself  on  her  knees  in  front  of 
him.  "  I  am  a  wretch !  "  she  said. 

He  could  only  repeat  her  name. 

"  I  am  not  worth  my  salt.  Ah,  why  did 
you  run  away?  Why  did  you  not  pursue  me, 
importune  me  until  I  wearied?  .  .  .  per 
haps  gladly  ?  There  were  times  when  I  would 
have  opened  my  arms  had  you  been  the  worst 
scoundrel  in  the  world  instead  of  the  dearest 
lover,  the  patientest!  Ah,  can  you  forgive 
me?" 

"  Forgive  you,  Nora  ?  "     He  was  numb. 

"  I  am  a  miserable  wretch !  I  doubted  you, 
I !  When  all  I  had  to  do  was  to  recall  the  way 


JOURNEY-S  END  £77 

people  misrepresented  things  I  had  done!  I 
sent  back  your  letters  .  .  .  and  read  and 
reread  the  old  blue  ones.  Don't  you  remember 
how  you  used  to  write  them  on  blue  paper? 
.  .  .  Flora  told  me  everything.  It  was 
only  because  she  hated  me,  not  that  she  cared 
anything  about  you.  She  told  me  that  night 
at  the  ball.  I  believe  the  duke  forced  her  to 
do  it.  She  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  abduc 
tion.  When  you  kissed  me  ...  didn't 
you  know  that  I  kissed  you  back?  Edward,  I 
am  a  miserable  wretch,  but  I  shall  follow  you 
wherever  you  go,  and  I  haven't  ev«n  a  vanity- 
box  in  my  hand-bag ! "  There  were  tears  in 
her  eyes.  "  Say  that  I  am  a  wretch !  " 

He  drew  her  up  beside  him.  His  arms 
closed  around  her  so  hungrily,  so  strongly, 
that  she  gasped  a  little.  He  looked  into  her 
eyes;  his  glance  traveled  here  and  there  over 
her  face,  searching  for  the  familiar  dimple  at 
one  corner  of  her  mouth. 

"  Nora !  "  he  whispered. 


378     THE  PLACE  OF  HONEYMOONS 

"Kiss  me!" 

And  then  the  train  came  to  a  stand,  jerkily. 
They  fell  back  against  the  cushions. 

"  Lecco !  "  cried  the  guard  through  the  win 
dow. 

They  laughed  like  children. 

"  I  bribed  him,"  she  said  gaily.  "  And 
now  ..." 

"Yes,  and  now?"  eagerly,  if  still  bewild- 
eredly. 

"Let's  go  back!" 


THE   END 


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